The Nightingale's Song
by SaphiraRyuuka
Summary: Life in The City never was and never will be easy: that was one constant that Garrett can count on to remain the same. Each Heist ending in success, Jobs hardly testing his skills as a Master Thief anymore: no matter how difficult Basso made it sound. So how was it that a Thief that was hardly worth his time is able to match his sarcasm and get under his skin like Erin never could?
1. Chapter 1

As a 'Child of Shadows', the rules are simple: get in, get out, and don't get caught: these are the three simple rules I had lived by my entire life. For as long as I could remember, I had been skulking through the darkened streets of The City, worried if this would be the evening that I would have a dagger run across my throat in my sleep. Ever since I was an Urchin: no older than three, abandoned to rot in the filthy slums that not even the Beggars would tread, it was here I learned two things: trust no one, and everything had its price. It was also here that my tears dried, and I began watching: watching how the Beggars snuck about the shadows, stealing coin from Rich pockets to afford their next meal. Watching the loud, measured footsteps of The Watch: treading along their routes with their steel weapons and bright torches. Watching the Rats as they climbed the old stone walls, waking at night to scurry the rafters and ropes above, unseen and unheard.

As I watched, I remembered. As I remembered, I practiced: following the animals to clean water, eavesdropping on the Dockworkers as they went about their duties aboard the many ships that visited the harbor: learning to tie knots and swim, to hiding under the Merchants' carts in Stonemarket: learning which spices preserved food and which ones could be ground into a medicinal paste, and how to treat illnesses and wounds from the brooding Plague Doctors. By the time I was ten: I had learned to climb as skillfully as a Rat, sneak as silently as a Cat, and blend with the darkness like a Ghost. At times, I would play games with the Watchmen: testing my Pickpocketing and hiding skills by throwing bottles or one of my own 'Noisemakers': a simple, noisy invention of an old can and loose stones.

From these games I learned to steal, the value of what I stole, and who a prime Target would be in the future. Over the next few years I mastered Lockpicking, to the point where I could break into a shop: pick it clean, and get out without the owners ever knowing I was there. At my eighteenth year, I had begun teaching the rest of the Beggars and Urchins how to get their own food: how to weave Basket Traps out of old wire to catch Fish, and Snares out of thread for Rats and Birds. While not tasty, they were plentiful enough and were easy to cook: given the herbs and spices I smuggle to them by the sack full, among the several other things that find their way to them every now and then. If I were a gambling woman, I'd wager the Beggars were faring much better than the Rich these days: with the exception of Baron Northcrest, that selfish old man had never gone hungry a day in his life, I'd bet my life on it.

It was also during this time that I had had enough of living in the squalor of Eel's End in the underbelly of the Wayside Docks: opting instead to claim the abandoned Lighthouse on the border between Southport and Eastport: the aged stone and wooden structure appearing haunted and foreboding in its own right, and once set with lethal traps, made the perfect place to call 'Home'. It was shortly after my twenty-sixth year that I had decided to toss my threadbare rags and exchange them for something more…appropriate for my new way of life. It had taken months of careful planning, measuring, and sewing: costing me several late-night 'visits' to the Tailor's shop, and more than one pricked finger more often than not. However, once I had finished and donned my new garb for the first time: I could barely even recognize myself in my dusty mirror and couldn't be prouder of it.

My 5'3 well-toned frame was now cloaked in my personalized Thief's garb that consisted of a snug, long-sleeved, soft leather blouse that was as dark as a Raven's wing. From my shoulders to my belt was a black leather corset that hugged my slim, muscular stomach snugly: acting as armor and preventing my blouse from snagging on anything while climbing or sneaking. While I originally didn't intend this, the corset also accents my breasts in a comfortable, but non-distracting way: while they were easy to hide while I was younger, it became difficult and uncomfortable to breathe over time: something I couldn't afford in my line of work. Attached to the corset were several small Burlap pouches filled to the brim with recipes of my own design.

To prevent myself from getting confused, I had colored them with the same dye used in the Noblewomen's feathered hats: green for the Sleep Powder, grey for Smoke Bombs, blue for Itching Powder, and red for Pepper Bombs (nasty ones, those). Down my forearms were dark-brown half-fingered leather gloves, already laced tight and well-worn. On my left elbow and right upper arm, were thick leather pads that were especially useful in keeping myself quiet while pressing against a wall or hiding under a cart. The leather pauldron on my right shoulder had a similar purpose, only it was used to prevent me from hurting myself if I had to take the full weight of something as I moved passed it: which is something I often dread in this crumbling City.

Around my waist was a leather belt that held my soft leather leggings in place, and also held one of my most trusted tools close by: a long, and well-woven leather whip, the likes of which is seen in every Urchin's worst nightmares, and it has saved my hide more times than I care to mention. Aside from my black leggings, I also carried a grappling hook in a holster on my right thigh: the teeth of which have bitten into more wood and stone than the Baron has Guards, and it will continue to do so for many more years to come, I'm sure. Covering my feet were a pair of knee-high boots that were the same color as my gloves and each held a pair of hidden knives: weapons I don't like using for killing, but were in reach if I didn't have any other choice.

My fiery-red curls were hidden beneath a leather hood that had a black cloth cape attached to it that reached to the backs of my knees, and greatly helped my slim frame blend in with the shadows and keep me out of sight of the Hawk-eyed Watchmen. The last and most important part of my garb, was the black scarf that rested around my neck and would become a mask that hid all but my emerald eyes from view: the charcoal surrounding them helped in keeping my identity secret and out of Public Knowledge. At first, I was just like any other Thief: steal from the Nobles, trade in the items, get paid…until I began attracting attention for my stealth and efficiency: 'The Nightingale', they called me: a beautiful Bird that rose with the setting sun and was well-known for its deception and love for collecting shiny things. With that title, came the rumors: tales of a Shade that slips through the shadows with no warning and would rob the trousers off any man who was unfortunate enough to wander in its path.

When I first heard that, it took everything in me not to laugh as I hid from a pair of drunken Watchmen as they stood guard outside a Nobleman's home. Now, I'd often wondered if I could actually get away with doing such a thing, but wasn't willing to bet my life on giving it a try: regardless of how funny it would be. It was shortly after the rumors started, that a black and white Magpie had visited my home with a tinderbox in its beak: how it knew where I lived, I didn't know: and tripled the traps within and around my abode in my paranoia of its mysterious Master. I had come to learn, that this Magpie would lead me to my future Fence and the closest thing a Thief had to a friend in this sorry excuse for a world. Against my instincts and better judgement, I followed the directions on the tinderbox's message and came upon 'The Crippled Burrick': a shady little tavern in the heart of Stonemarket.

It was in the basement of this rowdy, smokey tavern, that I'd met Basso: a short, portly man that had always worn a stained, drab suit and worn top hat that had hidden his greasy black hair from view: but had always had a mischievous glint in his brown eyes and an easygoing personality to match. It was through Basso that I had gotten actual Jobs: contracts that had actually paid and paid well for the items I stole or smuggled throughout The City. It was also through him that had given me the idea of training my own Messenger Bird: opting to use a gorgeous, black Nightingale that was on her way to becoming a Noblewoman's pet, but was easily swapped for a raven before the woman came to pick her up in her golden cage.

A bird with her nobility earned her the name 'Lucille', a name Basso nagged me for days on end to give her, 'She's more dignified than my Jenivere! Gal like that deserves nothing less!' he'd yap: giving me the most obnoxious, shit-eating grin when I finally agreed, like he'd won the damned Lottery. It was also through him, that I'd met other Thieves: most were pleasant enough, but there were others that made me want to jump off The Clock Tower, main one being Erin: a younger Thief with an arrogance and superiority complex that will without a doubt get the girl killed, and any who had the unfortunate luck of working with her. It was obvious from the day we met that we would not like each other, she had always boasted about being better than anyone she worked with, treating Jobs like a game and always made unnecessary noise that made sneaking past Guards damn-near impossible.

But it was the fact that she preferred killing to knocking Guards out cold was what had caught my attention the most: girl had a thirst for blood, and didn't care who's it was: I've seen her leave The Burrick with a partner, and return alone on more than one occasion. An Assassin in the making, one who's impatience and arrogance was a dangerous combination: and I felt the utmost remorse for whoever trained her. Which brings me to my current situation: in the Bedchamber of a lesser Nobleman, who had several empty bottles of wine surrounding his large and doubtless-comfortable bed. Judging by the snoring, he wouldn't be waking up for a long while, giving me free reign to all of his valuables: nothing too extravagant or noteworthy, but worth coin all the same.

With the grace of a Fox, I crept across the floor and over to a painting of an Eagle in a dead tree: running the tips of my fingers along the golden frame, pulling the two hidden switches and exposed the promising-looking safe hidden beneath. Glancing back at the sleeping drunk, I reached for the handwritten note I had pulled from his journal and read the combination he'd foolishly written down. At the three, satisfying 'clicks', I popped open the safe and exposed the documents contained within. Glancing them over, I decided they had little value and left them where they lay, reaching instead for a large golden necklace with several small diamonds encasing a very large emerald rested: and judging by its weight and the way the stones reflected in the candlelight, everything was very real and VERY valuable.

'There you are.' I thought, feeling a pleased smirk stretch across my face as I pocketed 'The Eye of The Eagle' safely in my Satchel before quietly replacing everything exactly the way it was prior to my visit. Before my departure from the home, I calmly rested a shiny black feather on the man's windowsill: the feather of a Nightingale. Come morning, the streets will be filled with the gossip of The Nightingale's latest victim, which made me wonder just how high The Watch would raise my Bounty, before quickly deciding I didn't care: unlike Erin, I actually had the skills to back up my words without ever drawing attention to them. I never cared for boasting: I let my actions speak for me, and these 'Feathers of Mark' tells of yet another successful Job, whether the public knew who was behind the robberies or not.

Job done, I quickly and quietly made my way across 'The Thieves' Highway' from the Manor in Hightown, back south and in the direction of Stonemarket: trying very hard not to gag at the rancid smell of the river as I passed it by. 'Makes me real glad I live nowhere near it.' I thought in disgust as I grabbed my whip and latched onto an overhanging rafter before using my momentum to swing to the building across the street: smirking at the sound of a startled Watchman that had caught the barest of glimpses of me in the receding torchlight. Sliding down the roof, I landed silently behind a pair of crates that had been left behind by the Merchants of Stonemarket: waiting patiently for the pair of Watchmen to 'kindly' turn away long enough for me to slip by them: they opted for a conversation instead, to my utter annoyance.

"Hey, you don't suppose the men down at The Foundry find, umm…you know, cock-rings and stuff on the bodies, do you?" the one to my left questioned awkwardly, making my eyebrows jump to my hairline at the question. 'What the fuck?' I thought, feeling my eyes light up in amusement at the surprised grunt the other gave: he was just as shocked as I was. "Why the fuck would you ask me that?!" the other snapped, affronted that he was being asked such a thing, in public, no less: couldn't say I blamed him. "My brother, Daniel, knew a Blossom. She said if you were in a pinch, you could use pig-gut, tied in a knot." the first replied, seemingly unconcerned with how uncomfortable he was making his friend. 'That's…one way to do it, I guess.' I thought as I clamped my jaws to keep myself from laughing.

"I'm here keeping watch for anyone breaking Curfew, and you're telling me about your brother tying his dong in a knot?" the second questioned, making a short snicker escape my throat at the deadpanned tone his voice took: which apparently, wasn't quiet enough. "Did you hear that?" the second questioned, both quickly forgetting the conversation and readied their weapons: the sound of singing steel loud and clear in the courtyard. 'Shit.' I thought, angry that I'd let my childish mind compromise my escape. "Come out! We know you're there!" the first shouted, making me quickly reach for my corset and pulled free one of my Noisemakers before carefully peeking around the corner of the crate: both Watchmen had their swords drawn and were angrily pacing about the well-lit space: the bonfire at their feet will no doubt cause problems for me if I couldn't reach the Merchant's cart across the street from me without being seen.

Holding my breath as they came to a stop directly next to my crate, I pulled my arm back and tossed the can far off to my right and into a shadowed corner of the courtyard: the tin on the cobblestone and the stones within created an awful racket and sent the Guards scrambling after it with haste: leaving me with just enough time to slip passed them and into the safety of the shadows unseen. With a sigh of relief, I quietly climbed the wall and back onto the neighboring roof: leaving the rest of the way to The Burrick clear of any further 'annoyances', just the way I liked it. Glancing around for any more unwanted 'surprises', I nodded to myself in satisfaction before jumping down from the roof and slipped inside The Burrick: finding the rowdy patrons and scent of flowing alcohol familiar and welcome: regardless if the liquor was…about as good tasting as the river smelled: and The City's supply of shit quite-literally flowed in it.

"Ah, Nightingale! 'The Usual', I presume?" the Barkeep, 'Samuel' shouted, calming down the rancorous Patrons almost immediately: they all knew the name, and were quick to stay out of business that wasn't theirs. "No thanks, Samuel, got a Job going." I replied, causing the tall, balding man to adopt a look of understanding as he reached to the counter and began cleaning mugs and spilled Whiskey. "Ah, well go on, then: Basso's waitin' on ya." he said, nodding in the direction of the basement, and Basso's 'Office'. 'Of course, he is.' I thought with a good-natured roll of my eyes as I tossed the man a light wave in passing, paying no mind to the Drunkards who had returned to their yelling with vigor as soon as I descended the steps, before quickly changing my mind and backed away from the door: opting instead to sneak in through the small window in the wine cellar.

Sneaking along the shadowed wall, I couldn't help the wide smirk that stretched slowly across my face as I watched my Fence pace about the dusty room while mumbling to himself: paying Jenivere no mind as she cooed at me before going back to preening her feathers. "She's late, what's keeping her?" I heard him grumble as he paced near his desk: completely unaware of my presence just out of his sight. "He'll be here any minute, where the hell is that gal?!" he growled, drawing a sudden curiosity from me: one that outweighed my urge to scare the man out of his skin. "Who?" I questioned, feeling a special satisfaction as Basso whirled around at an impressive speed and made to throw something at me: which in his case was nothing more than a silver ink bottle.

"Gods to Graveholes, Rayne!" he seethed, holding his chest like his heart was about to burst: making me feel as if I should be concerned by the fact that he'd use my actual name instead of my given title: but opted for laughing at his panic-stricken face, instead. "An ink bottle? Really? I'm offended, Basso." I pouted, staring at the puddle of dark liquid that splashed across the smooth, stone floor as he regained his breath and glared at me in annoyance. "Why you-you could have just used the damned door!" he snapped, storming passed me and began cleaning up his mess with more force than was probably necessary. "Where's the fun in that?" I asked, snickering at his mumbled cursing as I strode to the side of the room and climbed onto a stack of crates that no doubt held some of Samuel's better stock. "Did you get the Gig done, at least?" he asked as he stood up, tossing the stained rag in a corner before leaning over his desk, staring at his ledgers.

"You really doubt me?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow at him before tossing my prize at his desk with a good-natured scoff before my attention was drawn to the small window above his head. What had once been an empty space was now occupied by a large, dark silhouette: one that was sure and confident in its footing and carried a familiar form to the way they moved: a fellow Thief then, one I didn't recognize. I felt eyes on me almost immediately, and though I couldn't see them: their gaze left a burning feeling in my skin, as if I had Sand Fleas crawling on me and immediately knew that this was no ordinary Thief. Covering up the fact that whoever this was was making me uncomfortable by fiddling with my gloves, I watched Basso write down the information and confirm the Job was done in his ledgers as the stranger above silently crept through the window the same way I had: making me realize Basso was about to get scared again, making me think it was something all of his Thieves enjoyed doing.

'Wonder if he'll be pushed to drink tonight at this rate.' I mused, glad my scarf-like mask was covering the lower half of my face as a devious smirk stretched across it as the strange Thief slid through the shadows like a Ghost, making me quickly realize that this particular Thief was a 'he': and while seemed to sneak around well enough, the way his boots scraped across the stone with each measured step, I was still able to hear him coming. Watching him out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of pale skin, dark eyebrows and hazel eyes in the flickering candlelight as he watched me: no doubt waiting to see if I would announce his presence to Basso. Sending the stranger a subtle wink, I didn't even bother keeping the grin off my hidden face as he crept right up to my Fence: who still hadn't a clue that he was there.

"And, done. I'll be sure to get this to the Client, luckily for you: he paid in advance." Basso said, tossing me a rather-heavy coin purse that made a satisfying 'clinking' noise as I caught it. I had learned early on not to question Basso when it came to payment: the man always stuck to his word like flies on shit and knew the agreed amount of gold coins lay in the pouch without even having to check. "Thank you, kindly. Now, you said someone was coming to see us? You know I don't like meeting with the Clients, Basso." I said, knowing full-well a Client wasn't the one who was visiting, but decided to let my curiosity play the part as he looked up: a knowing smile stretching across his stubbled face before reaching over to give Jenivere a treat. "I did. Which is why you don't even need to worry about that, the guy's a fellow 'Entrepreneur', like you and me. The best The City has to offer, no offense to you: he'll be here any minute." he replied, completely oblivious to the fact that the strange Thief rose to his full height of 5'5 and leaned casually against the wall directly behind him: making me wonder how the hell Basso doesn't sense him standing there.

'One of these days, he'll really die of a heart attack.' I mused as Basso lifted the heavy, jeweled necklace to the candlelight: laughing as Jenivere tried to peck at the shiny gemstones. "Nice find." the stranger said, causing Basso to whirl around on his heels faster than a Noblewoman caught doing something nefarious. "Garrett, you taffer! How many times do I have to tell you to use the damned door?! I already got that treatment from this little shit, now you? I won't live long enough to see this year's Summersday Festival at this rate." the Boxman griped, glaring at the smug Thief as he looked over the prize in Basso's hands before the Fence whirled around on me: no doubt knowing about my shit-eating grin by now. "And don't you think you're off the hook for that, either! Why the hell didn't you tell me he was there? I know you saw him come in." he continued, glaring at me for a second before pocketing the necklace into a cloth bag and stored it away in the Safe for safekeeping until the Client came to get it.

"Hmm?" I hummed, sending him a well-practiced look of innocence through my mask that pulled a sigh of exasperation from Basso, and a smirk from our visitor. Like me, 'Garrett' was an obviously well-trained Thief and had earned his place in The City: judging by the dullness and well-worn appearance of his cloth and leather garb, he'd probably been doing Jobs long before I had. Taking notice of said attire, I couldn't help but scowl at the fact that his garb was nearly identical to mine: and briefly wondered if this fact was a coincidence or we had similar taste in Gear that was both functional and purposeful. While shorter than most men, it provided him a natural advantage in our line of work: standing at 5'5 at full height, it didn't take a genius to realize he was able to move much faster and get into places a larger man would find impossible.

Like me, he was dressed head to toe in cloth and black leather, and I knew immediately that each piece wasn't only handmade, but each stitch also served a purpose: just as mine did. In addition to matching, snug, black leather tunic and trousers, he wore a dark-brown leather harness over his tunic and had more belts then I carried Powder Pouches: though I didn't know if he'd use his for the same purpose, as I didn't see any attached to him. On his forearms and right shoulder were dark-brown leather pads that seemed to serve as armor and elbow-length fingerless gloves of the same color laced up tight: showing me his deceptively-strong form. His head was also covered by a black leather hood, though his face was covered with a piece of black fabric that held a faded pinstripe pattern instead of a scarf.

Across his shoulders and down his back was a tattered black cape that came to a stop at his calves, a few inches longer than my own and made of a thicker material. On his right thigh he also carried a grappling hook with a good bit of rope attached to it in a light-brown leather holster, and some sort of small club on his left. Down his legs were a pair of knee-high boots that had an additional layer of leather down his shins: also serving as armor. But the thing that really set him apart from me, was the mechanical metal bow and quiver of arrows on his back: this Thief was bold to use such a weapon, and in this City: bold wasn't always a good thing, and judging by the hardened look in his intense, charcoal-covered, hazel eyes: he had earned the right to use it, and use it well.

Taking in his scrutinizing glare, I knew I was being studied just as carefully as I studied him: neither of us paying Basso any mind as we sized each other up, each refusing to be intimidated by the other. 'Regardless of his size, he knows how to be intimidating with his mask on.' I noted, sending him a matching glare and broadened my shoulders: letting him know that I knew his game, and was NOT impressed by his posturing. "Nice to see a fellow Thief with a good eye." I said drily, reluctantly accepting his compliment on my prize as Basso turned to us with a broadened grin. "Nice to see you two getting along, I was beginning to worry that you would've torn each other to pieces on sight, knowing how you both are. Now, for introductions: Rayne, this is Garrett: The Master Thief. Garrett, this is Rayne: The Nightingale." Basso explained, causing Garrett to narrow his eyes in contempt: while I turned my deadpanned gaze to my Fence, who had the nerve to look confused.

"You waited until now to introduce me to 'The Legend in Leather'? That's not polite, Basso: and here I thought you were introducing me to more Noose-Bait." I griped, not at all bothered by this fact: however, my sarcastic sense of humor and pride demanded I retaliate with something: especially if I wasn't 'worthy' of said Thief's notice. "Hrmph. What sort of Thief leaves evidence at the Scene of a Crime?" Garrett grunted, seemingly unimpressed with knowing who I was, as if I was little more than a petty Street Thug trying to be a Thief and not worth his time. "The kind that knows she's not going to get caught." I growled back, feeling the bite of Pride as he so carelessly judged me: basing my skills on something as trivial as a Bird feather without even seeing me in action.

'The nerve! I may not be a 'Master Thief', but that does NOT mean you get to snub my skills like you know me!' I mentally snarled, baring my hidden teeth as Basso reluctantly stepped between us with his bandaged hands raised: no doubt sensing the rising tension that would've quickly led to a fight if left to boil. "Alright alright, knock it off. Rayne, you need to cool it before you do something you'll regret: Garrett is not one to trifle with, especially not in my Office. And Garrett, you may not approve of Rayne's…unorthodox methods, but the gal's a spitfire and is as smart as a whip: if you need anything smuggled in or out of The City, she's your gal. When it comes to Smarts, trust me: she puts her money where her mouth is." Basso scolded, speaking to us as if we were mere disobedient Urchins: however, taking a closer look at Garrett, and how Basso was giving me the 'please don't do anything stupid' face, I swallowed my pride and nodded curtly, agreeing to his request.

"I'll believe that when I see it, because from what I see: I'm not impressed." Garrett scoffed, crossing his arms over his muscular chest in hopes of intimidating me into backing down from his unspoken challenge. 'Oh, I can't wait to see you eat those words.' I thought, narrowing my eyes at the challenge as a sinister smirk began to crawl across my face as Basso glanced upwards toward the ceiling, as if he we're regretting the very idea of introducing us. "If it's a Game you wish to play, 'Master Thief': you should know I don't play fair. And if that'll be all, Basso: I'll take my leave: The Watch patrols may be as 'Dumb as a Box of Rocks', but I'd rather not cross them at sun-up." I stated, jumping down from my crate with the grace of a Cat and made my way back out the window without so much as a sound: making sure to send a polite nod of farewell to my Fence, and a heated glare towards Garrett: who hardened his own stare right back and I had to admit: it was refreshing to meet a fellow Thief with an attitude as sharp as his wit.

'Would be a real shame to see this one hang, been a long time since someone actually gave as good as they got.' I mused as I waved goodbye to Samuel as I made my way out of The Burrick and quickly took to the rooftops: heading east and across the bridge leading to the border between Auldale and North Dayport: taking full advantage of The City's layout as I ran, jumped, climbed and swung from one building to the next: ducking and swooping around multiple pairs of Watchmen as they patrolled their given areas until it was time for a Shift Change. Crossing south into Eastport, I relished in the faint, salty air of the sea as it chased away the horrid stench of the river that was beginning to make me feel lightheaded and sick to my stomach.

Dashing across a street as soon as a pair of crossbow-wielding Watchmen turned away, I stretched my hand out and swiped a fresh apple off an unguarded Merchant's cart: feeling my mouth water at the thought of enjoying such a sweet, juicy breakfast as I tucked it safely away in my satchel just before I climbed back up a neighboring building and continued along The Thieves' Highway, picking up the pace as soon as I spotted the faint outline of The Lighthouse on the horizon. Sliding down a slanted roof as I began running out of breath after running for several more streets, I reached to my belt and gripped my whip tightly on my right hand and pulled it free: latching onto an overhanging rafter with a snap of my wrist, using the momentum of my slide to swing across the street and into one of the open windows halfway up the side of The Lighthouse: the stone crumbling beneath my sudden weight, but never actually coming loose.

Tugging my whip loose, I rewound it back into its coil and placed it back at my belt as I climbed through the dusty window and landed softly on the old stone staircase: pulling my mask down and munched happily on my breakfast, hopping over the steps that I knew would crumble down to the pitch-dark bottom with the slightest touch and weaving effortlessly through and over my many other traps leading to the top. By the time I made it to the top, it was nearly sunrise as I had finished my apple and tossed the core down to the bottom for the Rats: which will no doubt be gone in minutes. As I closed the trapdoor leading to the Whale-Oil light and my home, I couldn't help but admire my personal collection of treasures and trinkets I had kept for myself over the years: scowling to myself as I suddenly thought of Garrett and his blatant disregard of my very being.

His very personality reminded me too much of Erin, regardless of how subtle it was: and while I was nowhere near as reckless or as arrogant as her: my confidence in my skills was well-earned, something I thought would at least be acknowledged, even by someone like him: and it stung something awful when it wasn't. 'Hrmph. I'll show that bastard right.' I mentally growled, shoving his entire existence out of my mind as I approached my Workbench: where Lucille's cage sat as she happily sang her beautiful song in the breaking dawn streaking in through the dusty window. "And good morning to you too, my Lovely." I cooed, passing her some seeds I had stored away in a burlap sack under the bench and away from the damp, salty air of the sea as it made its way in through the open window.

As she dug into her meal, I smiled softly as the morning light lit up her ebony-black feathers in a beautiful display of blues, purples, greens and reds: showing off the colors the darkness hid away from the rest of the world. 'Just like the rest of this wretched City: beauty is hard to find, but always worth keeping.' I thought as I wandered over to my bed and pulled off my boots and crashed into the lumpy, semi-comfortable mass in an ungraceful heap: the dark oblivion of sleep taking me in seconds, leaving me to inevitably rise with the night and continue my existence once again: and couldn't help but wonder if this would be all there was to my life as a Thief, and knew deep-down that there would be only one way to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

For several, long seconds: Garrett didn't move, glaring at the empty space the strange woman had vanished through with no small amount of contempt. When he first spotted her lounging atop the crates without a care, his first thought was that she was new to the profession and wouldn't last long. Such things happened often: someone didn't get their way or was forced to the streets and took to Larceny: often being found hanging from The Gallows within a week. However, as he swooped through the shadows towards Basso, he couldn't help but notice how she subtly twitched with his every step and had kept her gaze on him: never letting him out of her sight, and never moving from her position.

Regardless of her relaxed pose: she was quite aware of his position and each step he took, no matter how quiet he was. No matter how slowly he moved, his shifting weight still made his presence known to those who knew the sound of a Thief's footsteps: something she clearly excelled at. Once he caught her gaze, he'd be a liar if he said he wasn't surprised by the pair of striking, almond-shaped, emerald eyes, thick, dark lashes and fiery curls watching him like a Hawk as he made his way to Basso: the playful glint reflecting back at him distantly reminding him of the looks Erin would give him whenever they would be tasked with a Job together.

However, as he took in the state of her garb (which infuriatingly reflected his own), he noted the well-worn and dusty appearance of her leathers and tattered cloth: completely broken in and had possibly seen years of use, she definitely wasn't new to the game, either. Instead of using a bow or a club like his 'Blackjack', she opted for a grappling hook and a well-made leather whip that quite frankly, brought back memories that he'd rather not revisit as he removed his gaze and focused it on the rest of her appearance. Judging by the higher quality of the material of her garb, she obviously made good coin doing whatever it was she did: and judging by the quality of the necklace Basso was inspecting, she seemed to have quite the eye for finery and craftsmanship: a rarity that not many Thieves possessed anymore.

He'd also noticed through the dark charcoal: the faded, white line of a scar in the flickering candlelight that cut vertically through her right eyebrow and descended over her eye: disappearing beneath her mask and out of his keen gaze, leaving him to briefly wonder how she obtained it before she shifted positions: drawing his gaze to her faded, well-worn corset and the dozen or so Burlap pouches attached to the clasps with string. What was in them, he could only guess: however, judging by the way they were colored, left him with the suspicion that each color signified the pouch's level of danger or potency. Taking in the rest of her details, he noticed just how well-endowed and muscular she was: appearing just a few inches shorter than himself at 5'3, with a voice and wit that could easily charm the unwary, curvaceous, lean and no-doubt lovely beneath her garb, it was obvious she trained hard and didn't have a useless muscle in her body and definitely wasn't one to take lightly, she definitely _looked_ the part.

However, as soon as introductions were made: he made no attempt at hiding his disgust, and he'd also be lying if her reaction didn't spur a spark of amusement in him. 'The Nightingale': a Thief that was just as much of an Enigma in The City as he was, one that had no form or face: one that targeted anyone with anything valuable or shiny: and always leaving a single black feather on the windowsills of the Victimized. Such an action was baffling and downright idiotic to Garrett: if she was good enough to not be caught or seen, why go out of her way to leave proof of her presence? It made no sense, either she was THAT confident in her skills…or she really didn't care who knew if she was there or not.

In either case, he dreaded Erin and this woman, 'Rayne', ever meeting one another: the very thought bringing forth the early throbs of a headache he had no intention of becoming reality if he had anything to say about it. Still, she could hold an impressive glare and wasn't intimidated by him in the slightest: in which case he wasn't sure if her reaction was due to the stories that Basso doubtlessly told her, or he was underestimating her: something he very rarely did, if at all. One thing was clear: she had no reason to fear him, nor he her: and that fact was both a blessing and a curse, especially due to the sarcastic sense of humor they both seemed to share.

However, it was clear from the moment she learned who he was that she at least respected the fact that he'd earned his title and reputation in The City, and hadn't boasted about her apparent skills like his reckless Protégé was fond of doing at the worst of times. This, he noted: was at least one thing that made her different from Erin, but no less intolerable: especially with her obviously-short temper and how easily angered she became as soon as her 'skills' came into question: yet another reason he dreaded a meeting between her and his Protégé, they were so much alike that it wouldn't be long before a fight broke out between them. He'd also noticed how quickly she'd complied with Basso's request to step down as the tensions between them rose: at least the girl has the ability to listen, which clearly shows her respect for his Fence, making him briefly wonder how long the two had known each other: and if their relationship was similar to the Boxman's and his own: friendly, yet professional, before quickly deciding it would be something to ask Basso at a later time.

Taking mental notes, he watched how she announced her departure and leapt from the crate she was sitting on and climbed through the window with such grace and stealth, that even he had trouble hearing her leave: a fact that set his nerves on edge, especially if she decided Thieving wasn't enough and chose the Assassin's path instead, a thought that immediately labeled her as 'dangerous' in his mind: leaving him unwilling to show his back to the window or remove his mask, even once it was clear that she was already long-gone from The Burrick. Watching Basso out of the corner of his eye, he couldn't say he was surprised when his Fence ran a tired, bandaged hand down his face with a sigh that bordered between exasperation and annoyance before walking behind his desk and glanced at his ledgers.

"Well, that could've gone better." he remarked dryly, reaching up and stroking Jenever's feathers: the man loved that Magpie more than anything in the world and cared more for her than he did himself more often than not. "Any particular reason you introduced me to that…Amateur?" Garrett inquired, knowing full-well the stories of The Nightingale were anything but, however: he also knew how exaggerated and warped stories became over time, and would be saving his opinions for himself: if he ever had the misfortune of seeing her again. "Ah, that was the reason I called you. I've got something special in the works that the two of you would excel at: the Client for this…particular Gig should have the details handed over to me within the next few nights. She personally requested the two of you by title, and would only accept the best of the bunch to get it done." Basso replied, causing him to narrow his eyes harshly at his Fence: who gave him a sheepish look and half-hearted shrug in return.

"You know I work alone, Basso." he snarled, feeling his oncoming headache return with a vengeance at the very thought of being sent on a Heist with Rayne: if his suspicions were correct about her and her ways, he'd sooner work with Erin. "So does she, however, the place is supposed to contain two items the Client wants: which is why I'm sending her with you, not just because the Client requested it." Basso explained, not bothered in the least by his annoyance as he returned his silver pen to its matching ink bottle and looked over at him with a knowing smirk: he was enjoying this FAR too much. "I'm a Thief Basso, not a Babysitter. Why is she even involved in this next Job when I can just as easily do it myself without her getting in my way?" Garrett questioned harshly, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as his Fence held up a bandaged finger and reached under his desk and pulled out a piece of ragged-looking parchment after fumbling with the cluttered mess for several seconds.

"This is why. The items the Client wants are located in the Manor of Thadeus Harlan in Greystone Plaza: one supposedly locked away somewhere in his wife's private rooms on the upper north side, the other in the General's private study. According to the Client, the best time to pay that place a visit would be during his wife's Promotion Party: supposed to be one of those High-End 'Nobles' Galas' or something of the like." he replied, pointing to each location on the hand-drawn map of the inner layout of the Manor. Well, that explained everything: General of The Watch, Thadeus Harlan, recently-titled 'The Thief-Taker General': was a man who was notorious for having an unhealthy obsession for hunting Thieves and thoroughly-enjoyed tormenting those beneath him as The Baron's personal Hound: even going so far as ruthlessly killing his own men for the slightest error and feeding their corpses to the Dogs without a second thought.

"They're on opposite sides of the Manor, and I suppose there will be patrolling Guards?" he stated, already knowing the answer to that question, in which case he supposed Basso was right in that particular regard: going in alone would be suicide, even for someone like him: and if he didn't trust Basso like he did, he'd call the whole thing a bad idea and refuse the Job: especially if a stranger like Rayne was involved. "From what I understand, The General's bringing in his absolute best to guard these Nobles during their fancy party. Luckily for you, Rayne's very good at what she does: knows every nook and cranny of every important building in The City. If anyone's going to get you in there and back out again without being seen and unscathed, it'll be her." Basso continued, drawing a snort from Garrett as he rolled his eyes at the thought: his Fence had too much faith in this girl, and would surely pay dearly for it if he wasn't careful.

"I don't need anyone to get me through places." he stated, and though his words came out strong: his logic and reason were beginning to outweigh his pride, and though he hated to admit it: Basso had never lied to him and would only suggest a partner if he truly believed he needed one. If she was only there to do her half of the Job and not get them both killed by doing anything reckless or stupid: it wouldn't be such a hindrance, as long as she didn't try to turn on him: in which case she wouldn't be around long enough to regret it, regardless of his personal rules. "She's been through the Manor before, smuggled me some of the Good Stuff from The General's personal stock on more than one occasion: might even ask her to bring some back, now that I think about it." he added, causing Garrett to snap out of his thoughts and raise an eyebrow in response, before reluctantly deciding that he could at least tolerate her presence on this Job: hoping he wouldn't end up regretting it later, for her sake.

"Just this once, Basso. I work alone. Next time, don't involve anyone else in my Jobs without informing me first. Last thing I need is an Amateur bringing The Watch down on me in the middle of a Heist." Garrett warned, sparing his Fence a harsh glance from over his shoulder before turning on his heel and made to take his leave through the same window he'd entered from. "Sorry about that, it was kind of a last-minute thing: I'll be sure to send Jenivere when I know the exact details of the Gig." Basso replied, handing said Bird a treat: only to pull his hand away with a yelp and a growl as he received yet another painful 'nip' from the Magpie. "And Garrett." he suddenly called, causing him to pause midway out the window and glance at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Try not to be too harsh on her, that personality of hers might take some getting used to: but Rayne's a good sort. If you do decide to go looking for her, last I heard she's cozying up at the old Lighthouse between Southport and Eastport. Have some confidence in her, and she'll do right by you." Basso said, receiving no verbal reply as Garrett hesitated for a second before vanishing like the Ghost he was and slipped out of The Burrick before quickly taking to The Thieves' Highway, making his way back to The Clock Tower just as the first rays of dawn began bleeding on the horizon. Leaping down from the shadowed roof of an unnamed townhouse, he quietly took cover behind a cart and waited patiently for the pair of sleepy, patrolling Guards to pass him, glad that avoiding the Watchmen at this time of morning was child's play to him, and didn't have to try very hard to avoid them.

As he swooped around their dimming torches and bonfires while crossing streets and back alleys, he managed to snatch himself a loaf of cooling bread from an unguarded windowsill as he made his way across the small, wooden bridge and back up the unsteady scaffolding of The Clock Tower with a practiced ease that didn't so much as disturb the dangerous structures before slipping in through the window. Upon entering his abode, he found solace in the familiar sounds of the ticking Clock and grinding gears as he made his way over to where he kept his own personal collection, picking at the warm, fluffy bread as he went: looking the gold, jewels, historical plaques and paintings over with a critical eye: but not really seeing, as he felt his thoughts drift.

It was obvious his Fence had a soft spot for The Nightingale, and while he wasn't even remotely close to being jealous of this fact: he couldn't help but briefly wonder why Basso waited this long to introduce them, before his mind quickly took him back to their less-than-favorable first encounter and he knew why. Garrett was a jaded Loner by nature: cynical and sarcastic, never letting anyone close and preferred it that way: friends meant attachments, attachments meant weaknesses: something he couldn't afford in his line of work. And judging by his earlier impression of Rayne: he'd noticed she carried a similar stance in her form: well-hidden beneath her playful and sarcastic attitude, she played her cards tight to her chest and kept her secrets close.

That at least, he could respect, as he did the same: even going so far as appearing sinister in both appearance and demeanor to those who didn't know him, and he preferred it that way instead of the alternative: let the people think what they wanted, not like their opinions changed anything. That being said, he shoved any further thoughts of his Fence and Rayne's potential relationship out of his mind: focusing instead on planning his routes, actions and reactions once he'd entered the Manor. The Manor itself was built like a maze of wood and stone, judging by Basso's map: full of twists, turns and hidden corridors that could hold not only plenty of items to fill his pockets with: but also, plenty of places to station Guards and traps. If Rayne had been through the place before, then she was admittedly going to be his best bet when it came to planning routes and which areas to avoid.

It seemed that Luck wasn't in his favor today: having the misfortune of dealing with The Nightingale twice in as many days, but he also knew it couldn't be helped if she was as helpful as Basso claimed. While he didn't need anyone's help in completing Jobs, Garrett also wasn't foolish enough to refuse suggestions if they proved useful in avoiding confrontation and unnecessary attention to his profession. As he finished his bread, he couldn't help but dread his inevitable meeting with the strange, and potentially-dangerous Thief: and while her actions and reputation labeled her as yet another Ghost in The City, his instincts told him to be wary, regardless of what Basso said.

For being as silent as he'd observed, he knew it wouldn't take much for her to gain the upper hand in conflict if she decided to become an Assassin and turn on him for his Bounty: especially when Garrett himself wasn't much for direct combat. Regardless of what Basso told him, he'd have to tread lightly and keep his blind-spots well-guarded until he was sure of her intentions: something every good Thief should express, especially in the presence of someone new and unpredictable. With that decided, he brushed the crumbs from his gloves and trousers and stalked up the stairs towards the dusty window he used for a door. Taking in the sights of The City as it began to wake in the early dawn, he glanced to the horizon and in the direction of the border between Southport and Eastport and couldn't help but admit that perhaps that old, stone Lighthouse wasn't a bad place to claim.

While old and crumbling, it was foreboding and daunting to most and also had the advantage of being close to the Docks: giving any Thief in the area the opportunity to get first pickings from the ships that frequently visited the island. And Garrett could see how smuggling items from said ships to well-paying Clients would be tempting and enticing, as even he was tempted to sweep through the cargo on occasion. While not among his preferred Targets, the Trading Ships imported nearly all of The City's items and goods from far off countries: from the freshest food, to the rarest gemstones and gold: no doubt well-guarded and under constant surveillance, something he'd admit was unexpected and risky of someone like her.

But then again, what was Larceny to a Thief without a little risk? It seemed taking risks was another trait she seemed to have in common with him, and hoped it wouldn't end up getting them both killed during this upcoming Job, especially if her skills weren't as keen as her reputation made them out to be. Thinking back on it, perhaps it was a bad idea to challenger her, especially once he'd learned they'd be working together on this next Heist: for all he knew, she'd follow Erin's footsteps and let that challenge go to her head and would end up doing something reckless or stupid and would end up getting them both caught, or worse. In which case, he'd have no qualms with leaving the Amateur to deal with her fatal mistake and complete the Job himself: she wasn't his Protégé or his problem, let her handle herself.

If The Nightingale's reputation preceded her, however, he knew she'd be just as professional as he would, with minimal to no mistakes: but Garrett still wasn't willing to bet his survival on it until he'd judged her for himself, especially when he'd never worked with her before. "Just what the hell have you gotten me into, Basso?" he asked himself, trying in vain to rub away his throbbing headache as his mind came up with hundreds of different scenarios that could go horribly wrong because he'd put his faith in a stranger like Rayne. Garrett knew that when it came to the minds of Thieves, there were those who believed the outcome of a perfect Heist laid in the preparation, while others argued it was in the timing or the opportunity: stating that only the best became a Ghost, leaving no trace behind. And while all of these were valid points, he had no idea what she believed: and that, in addition to her silence and grace: made her dangerous and untrustworthy in his eyes, but Basso seemed to put a great deal of trust in her.

Thinking back to his final words on the matter, he decided to give Basso the benefit of the doubt, before he turned from the window and climbed into the gears of the Clock with practiced ease: glancing critically over each one and taking note of the ones that needed oiled or replaced, pleased that only three were coming to that point and made sure to remember to keep his eyes open for fresh gears in Stonemarket the next time the Engineers passed through. Once he combed through the rest of his home for any sign of recent damage, he leapt from the platform and grabbed hold of one of the ropes leading to the lower levels, checking the traps below for any sign of tampering or any lost limbs due to any being triggered by any unfortunate souls.

Satisfied that he could find neither, he climbed back up into his living space: pausing just long enough to pull his mask down and scrub the charcoal and dirt from his face in the washbasin, feeling the beginning effects of drowsiness start to catch up with him, he decided to turn in early this morning: especially if he was going to be paying Rayne a visit later on in the evening. While he had a feeling she wasn't entirely as insufferable as Erin tended to be, judging by his initial introduction to her: he had a sneaking suspicion he'd need all the energy he could get in order to put up with her, especially if she wasn't expecting a visit to her hideaway: least of all, from him. From the stories he'd heard, she was an expert in getting into places she shouldn't: much like he was, and that would earn her a lot of enemies in turn, especially among The Watch and jealous Thieves.

If she was as smart as Basso had given her credit for, then she most-likely would've trapped that Lighthouse to hell and would have to keep his wits about him: especially if she didn't know he was coming. "Guess someone's in for a rude awakening." he mused, feeling the slight tug of a smirk start to pull at his lip at the thought of getting the jump on The ever-vigilant Nightingale: something he was convinced would be a worthy challenge, if her reaction to his earlier sneaking was anything to go by. As he imagined the reaction she would give, he couldn't help but feel a nice boost to his own pride: finding something to best her in and prove he's still the best in The City should knock down that sarcasm of hers: as long as his Protégé was able to hold back her own pride and not get involved.

Regardless of his minimal interaction with Rayne, it didn't take a genius to figure out that a meeting between the two women would end up in bloodshed: there wasn't a doubt in his mind, especially with Erin's constant need to compete and prove herself as the better Thief. With a sigh of annoyance, he pushed the thought away and kicked off his boots and rested his Blackjack, bow and quiver against the wall next to his mattress: well within reach, should he need them. Running a hand through his hair, he noted it would soon need cut as he lay on his back: willing his body to turn in for a rest as The Clock carried on with its constant, soothing noise. Unbeknownst to him as he felt his mind drift, that something as trivial as a meeting between Erin and Rayne would very soon be the least of his problems, and would very likely lead to disastrous events that not even The Queen of Beggars could foresee in time to warn him: and that, was a truly dangerous, and terrifying thought.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Lucille's beautiful song woke me from my sleep, it was nearly sun-down: which gave me plenty of time to perform maintenance on The Lighthouse: something I've been putting off for quite some time, I will admit. After pulling on my boots and rolling the cramps from my joints after sleeping on the poor-excuse for a bed that badly needed replaced, I reapplied the charcoal to my eyes after visiting the small, closed-off restroom and walked across the circular room I had turned into my bedroom, lifted the trapdoor and descended the spiral, stone staircase: navigating the dizzying journey until I came to the door that led to my store room and grabbed my 'borrowed' toolbox and began making my rounds throughout the seven floors of The Lighthouse.

While the lantern room at the very top wasn't very big, there was still plenty to care for in this old, crumbling tower: mainly the Whale-oil lamp that kept boats and ships from crashing into my home and other such hazards that came with living so close to the sea. Pausing just long enough to let Lucille out of her cage to stretch her wings, I made quick mental notes of what needed cleaned tonight and what could wait until later before beginning my tedious tasks of repairing and cleaning. Reaching for the heavy, metal box, I dug out a rag and began cleaning the windows and oiling the hinges: deciding to save the sweeping and rug-beating for last, before tossing the rag back as I climbed up the rest of the spiral staircase until I came to the watch room above the kitchen: a wide-open room surrounded by windows on all sides that I had turned into my personal training room: complete with a small obstacle course and strategically-placed mannequins disguised as Watchmen of various Rank wielding multiple sorts of weaponry.

While I wasn't a Chemist by Trade, the large, wooden desk placed against the large windows next to the double doors that led to the small balcony was also where I designed my lethal and non-lethal equipment and tested out new ideas for future Jobs, and was where the majority of failures tended to happen until I got them right: to my chagrin. Shifting the box's heavy weight, I strode past the several mannequins, maze-like climbing walls, as well as the weighted bags on the floor and made my way further up the next flight of stairs and into the lantern room: feeling a peaceful smile stretch across my face as I took in the gold and red sunset as it began to disappear in the dark-blue void of the sea, glad that the clouds had decided not to completely blanket the sky for once.

'Alright, now to deal with you.' I thought with an exasperated sigh as I walked over to the massive, bronze lamp, filled to the brim with Whale-oil and already beginning to leak at the seams and make an insufferable mess across my once-cleaned stone floor. Biting back a growl of annoyance, I set the toolbox down and pulled out one of the smaller wrenches from its contents and got to work on tightening the screws and rivets that covered the lamp like a sickness: there had to be at least three-hundred of each on the damned thing. After an hour or so, I had tightened the last one: pleased that the leaking had finally stopped, but was left with the putrid, slippery mess that could cause me to fall and break something later on if I didn't deal with it now.

"You're more trouble than you're worth." I scowled, before crouching low and began the frustrating process of mopping up the mess with the black-stained mop I had placed against the wall for this exact purpose: glad I had enough experience in doing so without getting myself covered in the sleek, black sludge: it is NOT easy or pleasant to get out of cloth or leather, not to mention the smell will linger like a cloud for days on end: making it nearly impossible to do any sort of Job or Heist without being discovered, especially if they had Dogs with them. Glaring at the lamp, I made absolutely sure I had gotten the extra oil off of my hands before I lit a match from one of Basso's tinderboxes and carefully touched the tiny flame to the wick attached to the oil burner before closing the small, glass window: lighting the lamp and allowed the massive beam of light to hit the surrounding mirrors and stretch out into the darkening horizon, guiding the incoming ships to the harbor.

'Now, let's play nice, and not have to do this again, yeah?' I thought in relief: glad to see that it was working properly and was no longer leaking across my floor. Satisfied, I collected my toolbox and turned on my heel and descended the stairs and returned the heavy box back to my store room once again: this time leaving with a broom and rug-beater instead. Deciding to start from the bottom up: I followed the twisting, stone stairs even further down to the next level and entered the first floor, which I'd come to call the entrance room. Navigating the neatly-placed pieces of furniture, I set the rug-beater across the cushions of the small couch before leaning the broom against the wall. Once I had my hands free, I knelt to the floor and rolled up the large, red and white, oval-shaped rug and moved it towards the door. As soon as it was out of the way, I began the process of sweeping the old, smooth stone: not even phased by the absurd amount of dust that had collected over such a short period of time, making short work of the mess and swept it out the trapdoor and down to the bottom of The Lighthouse.

Once the floor was clean, I replaced the broom and opened the window before carrying the rug over to the now-open space and started beating the living-shit out of it: trying my hardest not to sneeze as the sea-breeze blew the cloud right back in my face, thankfully not back inside the room I had just cleaned. Placing the rug back where it belonged, I got to work on lighting the candles on the three small tables and single dresser where I kept spare clothing for when I needed to repair or clean my usual garb. Once the room was well-lit in the darkening night, I closed the window and retreated back up the stairs: repeating the cleaning process in the living room, bedroom and kitchen: I decided to wait to clean the rafters and store room another day: as sorting through that literal mess was a headache all its own, and I had no interest in dealing with it tonight.

Satisfied with the previous rooms, I made my way up to the watch room and opened the doors leading to the balcony before giving the floor the same treatment as the previous rooms: glad the rug in this room was already clean as I rolled it up and moved it out of the way before sending the dust out the doors and into the sea below. Replacing the rug where it belonged, I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a sigh of relief: glad my job was almost finished as I got to work on cleaning the large windows next, which was thankfully my last task until I decided to dust the rafters, sort through the store room and replace my food stores in the kitchen. "Really should get some curtains for these." I mused quietly as I finished the last one after another hour or so, making a mental note to keep my eye out for some nice ones the next time I browsed through the ships' cargo the next time I needed to replenish the necessities.

Once they were clean, I gave my back a much-needed stretch: groaning in pleasure at the multiple 'cracks' that echoed in the quiet space before I retreated back down the stairs and placed the broom and rug-beater back where they belonged before once-again returning back up to the watch room: pausing just long enough to fill a saucer full of water and pay some loving attention to Lucille before leaving her to her snacks and bath while I climbed the rest of the way back to the watch room. Contrary to what people might say if they knew where I was: I didn't just choose this place because of its remote location and easy access to first pickings from the ships: I also chose this place because of the utility it provided, walking the spiral staircase multiple times a day provided me with much-appreciated cardio: strengthening my legs and my stamina without having to leave my home: not like others I knew who had to take to The City for the same purpose.

Smirking at the thought of how jealous my fellow Thieves would be if they knew that little secret, I took generous amounts of dried herbs, spices and other dried plants from their hanging positions by one of the windows before having a seat at my desk-turned-workbench, lighting the candles and looked over the dozens of blueprints of potential equipment I had drawn and other papers containing recipes for new kinds of Powder Pouches I had in mind before neatly setting the majority of them aside: keeping a single one in view that contained an experimental recipe that would (hopefully) create a cloud of toxic dust that would paralyze those who inhaled it: rendering them unable to move or speak for up to several hours: leaving them unable to attack me or call for help until I was long-gone.

'Think I'll dye these…purple.' I decided with a satisfied 'nod' after a few moments' hesitation as I opened the drawers and pulled out the funnel, mortar and pestle and several measuring beakers I had lifted from the bag of an unsuspecting Plague Doctor, as well as a pair of thick, protective goggles: leather, bronze and just as hideous as any of Vittori's…'attractions', but I'd rather wear a pair of heavy, thick-lensed, hideous goggles then go blind by loose powder getting in my eyes: something I definitely couldn't afford in my profession. Pulling my mask up to prevent myself from breathing in any loose dust, I glanced over the recipe intently before following the experimental instructions: separating and placing the estimated amount of each specific item into the mortar and pestle: roughly grinding them down until they were nothing more than a collection of fine, sweet-smelling dust that had turned a curious shade of mint-green.

'Hmm…wonder if it was the Foxglove that did this, or perhaps the Hemlock? I'll need to research this more.' I thought: setting the heavy, stone tools down and jotted down notes, careful not to breathe in any of the mixture in case it turned out to be another failure: especially when such toxic plants were involved in its creation. Placing my silver pen back into its matching ink bottle, I placed the small, metal funnel into the glass, measuring beaker before carefully pouring the contents of the mortar into it: watching the dangerous powder fill the bottom of the beaker like sand until the last of it had entered its new container. As I placed the funnel aside, I lifted the beaker until it was level with my face: giving it a light shake to even out the amount and allow me to record the number on the side of the glass: only to very-nearly drop it as the sudden banging of my Alarm Bells scared me out of my skin.

I had one on each floor of The Lighthouse: rigged to go off if any of my traps had been triggered, and judging by the noise of the golden bells, surprised cry and muffled swearing coming from just outside my line of sight on the watch room's balcony: someone had been caught in one of my carefully-hidden Rope Snares that I had disguised as just another of the several, old ropes that had been out there for as long as I could remember. 'Good to know that they work.' I thought grimly as I quickly set my project down, pulled my goggles off and blew out the candles with a wave of my hand, crouching low to the floor and carefully slipped out the doors leading to the balcony without so much as a sound: grateful the constant roaring of the sea pounding against the rocks would've covered up any sound I would've made as I slipped through the pitch-dark shadows with the silence of a Ghost, taking the opposite way the trap was: as to gain the element of surprise from whoever had the audacity to stumble blindly into my home without so much as a warning: which wasn't an easy feat for one surrounded by windows.

'And here I thought I was going to get to enjoy a peaceful evening to myself.' I thought with a bitter glare as I rounded the bend and took in the sight of the large, dark shape furiously struggling to get free with no small amount of growls and impressive curses as it couldn't seem to reach the loop tied around its foot and continuously found itself hanging upside-down no matter how hard it tried to right itself: a sight that was no-doubt humiliating to whoever this was, especially if there were other witnesses besides myself to their plight. Judging by the depth of their muffled voice and body shape: the victim of my trap was a 'he'…a rather small-statured one…one that was looking more and more familiar the longer I studied his thrashing form, and it didn't take long to figure out who this was. 'No…fucking way.' I barely managed to think, not even realizing my jaw dropped as my eyebrows jumped to my hairline in utter shock: I couldn't believe it! Never in my life had I ever expected I would end up snagging a fellow Thief in one of my traps, especially not one with the skills or likes of…

"Garrett?" I called, stilling the thrashing figure immediately as I eased out of my halfway-crouched stance and cautiously approached the dark form that had gone eerily-still: feeling the hidden, hateful glare from across the balcony as I got close enough to see his features in the lantern's light. Even though upside-down, my assumptions proved true: making a traitorous smile start to spread across my hidden face as I took in The very-unamused Master Thief as he dangled helplessly by his right foot, several feet off the floor: hazel eyes meeting mine in a glare that contained all the hate in the world as he crossed his arms over his chest and gently swung from side-to-side in the gentle sea-breeze: tattered cape brushing the floor of the balcony like the tail of a lazy Cat.

As he scowled dangerously at me from beneath his mask, I decided I couldn't hold it in anymore as I imagined the look on his hidden face, before I threw my head back and burst out laughing: completely-ignoring the fact that I'd probably just sealed my own fate as I wiped the tears away just enough for me to see the murderous expression in his eyes: which was enough for me to pull myself together and control myself, with the exception of a few more traitorous giggles at his misfortune. 'I can't wait to tell Basso! Oh, he's going to faint!' I thought mischievously, completely unphased by the deep growl that escaped my fellow Thief's throat: something that probably should be concerning considering who it was, but I was enjoying this far too much to give a damn. 'If he was to kill me for this, I'd die happy.' I decided, feeling my shit-eating grin return with a vengeance as we met eyes again…and I just couldn't help myself: I was definitely NOT going to waste this opportunity, especially if it was my last.

"Shut. Up." he spat venomously, no doubt imagining all the creative ways he could end my life as I crossed my arms over my chest with a contented smirk: one he doubtlessly knew I had by now. "My my, that's not very polite: especially when you're the one trespassing. Let me guess: Basso told you where I was? He failed to mention my traps, I see: which begs the question now…how did **I**: manage to snag the best Thief in The City? Surely, someone like you would've figured out the dangers of visiting another Thief's abode uninvited? No doubt you knew of the ones inside: judging by your presence out here, so how exactly does someone of your skills manage to be strung up by a simple Rope Snare? Must be a nice jab to your well-earned pride: to know that The Nightingale has outsmarted you, Master Thief." I couldn't help but taunt, causing the hateful glare to increase tenfold to the point where the hairs on the back of my neck and arms stood up at the unspoken threat, no…the unsaid promise.

'Gods, if looks could kill.' I thought, hiding my suddenly-nervous 'gulp' with an adjustment to my mask as he growled at me again before pulling a Sawtooth Arrow from the quiver on his back before trying once again to cut himself free with renewed vigor: not even bothering to hide his anger and frustration anymore as gravity worked against him and once-again forced him back into his original position: making me almost feel bad for designing the Snares that way. "Would you like some help? You seem to be struggling." I noted with a hidden grin, stating the obvious as he tried two more times with the same result: which no-doubt greatly added to his frustration. "I don't need your damned help, Girl. Fuck. Off." he snarled, making me raise an eyebrow at his coarse language towards me as he leaned upwards and tried again: and couldn't say I didn't deserve it, if I was being honest.

"Dear me, that's no way to speak to a Lady: and here I am trying to be nice: you DID trespass into my home for an unknown reason, after all. What would The Watch think if they patrolled by here and saw you strung up just for them like fresh Beef on a hook, I wonder? I don't think your pride or your reputation would be able to handle it, Garrett." I taunted back, causing the thrashing to still for a moment before starting up again at a much slower rate: he was beginning to tire, whether he was ready to admit it or not. "I can handle myself fine, pest! Now leave me be, before I put an arrow between your eyes." he threatened, and would no-doubt keep his word if he could actually reach and use his bow while upside-down, leaving me with a frown and glare of my own as I stared him in the eye.

"Now you listen here, I respect your title and reputation in this City greatly, Master Thief: but don't you DARE threaten me in my own home, you have no idea how lucky you are that it was merely a Rope Snare that caught you, instead of something that would've left your sorry arse in pieces. If you were a Watchman, I'd have cut that rope and allowed you to either drown in the sea, or be eaten by the Sharks in the Bay: whichever came first. Now, you can swallow your pride and either accept my help and allow me to get you down from there: or you can pass out from all the blood rushing to your head, which, judging by how red your face is turning: won't be long. Make your choice." I snarled back, stretching my right hand out to him with a venomous glare: one that was met with equal vehemence for several, long seconds as he gave a low, menacing growl from between clenched jaws before reluctantly stretching his larger hand out and met mine in a dull 'clap': gripping mine tightly as I leaned down and removed one of the twin daggers from within the lining of my boots: rolling my eyes as his flashed dangerously, tightening his grip as he tensed: ready to pull me over the edge of the railing while never taking his eyes from the lethal blade as it caught the lantern's light in a sinister gleam: showing both our reflections in a hazy, distorted image in the polished steel.

"Relax. If I wanted you dead, I would be aiming lower." I deadpanned, paying no mind to any of his further reactions as I stepped to his side and lifted my right foot, before using the lowest of the balcony's three metal railings as a step: lifting myself just high enough to allow the fang-shaped, curved blade to slice cleanly through the rope with a single, forceful stroke. As soon as he was free, we both subconsciously tightened our grip on one another with dual grunts of effort as the sudden presence of gravity tried to pull him down into the roaring sea and lethal rocks making up the cliffside The Lighthouse was perched upon. Planting my feet firmly into the stone floor, I slid into a sideways stance and tensed the muscles in my arm, legs and back and held fast: giving Garrett just enough time to grab the railing in his other hand and pull himself back to safety and away from the long drop to certain death below.

"There. I won't expect a 'thank you' since I know I won't get one, but I WILL accept an explanation for this…unexpected visit. No one just 'knows' where I am, so I assume Basso told you and I'd like to know why: what's so important that you just had to visit in person, when Basso could've just sent Jenivere?" I questioned, stepping away from him and crossed my arms over my chest: glaring at The Master Thief as his gaze met mine with an equal amount of annoyance. "It's pretty obvious when The Lighthouse still works as well as it does after being abandoned for years without a Keeper. If you were as smart as Basso says, then you'd know they don't light themselves, you're asking for trouble, keeping it lit." Garrett scoffed, pointing out the obvious flaw that would've normally had the place crawling with Watchmen several times over by now if they ever had the courage to come looking.

"Please. The people along the border are so superstitious and paranoid that they believe its haunted by vengeful Spirits after the Keeper's home had been washed away. If I didn't keep it lit, the incoming ships would never make it into the harbor: meaning no goods or supplies for anyone in The City. And with the exception of you, no one had ever dared investigate in the years I've lived here: and there's only one way up if you can't climb, and if people really are that stupid to come up that way: I truly wish them luck, let the Old Gods sort them out." I replied, waving my hand in a nonchalant fashion as Garrett narrowed his eyes for a moment before crossing his arms: appearing relaxed to the untrained eye, however, I knew he was anything but: to which I could relate if the roles were reversed, it was almost unheard of for Thieves to visit one another: especially in someone's hideaway where so much could go wrong for the visitor.

"You put too much faith in those traps of yours: one day, you'll regret it. One way up, means one way down: if they were to get smart and set this place ablaze, you'll end up trapping yourself." he warned, and was right to an extent: but I had several back-up plans and fail-safes just in case it would come to that point, I didn't choose to keep The Lighthouse running on a whim with no plans involved, after all. "Says the one who had been snagged in one: the placement for my traps has been carefully thought-out and executed after months of planning: even those with a highly-trained eye couldn't see or even find half of them. It comes with years of planning and observations: I'd wager I know the people down there better than they know themselves by now. So. What brings you here, Garrett? Surely, this isn't a 'friendly visit', if our less-than-pleasant first encounter in The Burrick is anything to go by. It must be important if Basso sent you all the way over here instead of Jenivere, and with no warning as well: you're lucky I didn't take you for a threat. Would be a shame if I had to tell Basso that The Master Thief had been reduced to Fish Food." I smirked, finding his immediate scowl and matching glare amusing as I subtly studied his form for any ill-intent as he doubtlessly did the same right back: paying especially-close attention to my hands, he wasn't stupid either: good to know.

"Basso's got a Job for us, has us paired up on a Double Heist: I'm here to go over plans and discuss our strategy." he said, making me raise an eyebrow in confusion, as Basso knew for a fact that I worked alone and did so flawlessly and without hardly any problems: so what made this one so different that he'd pair me up with The legendary Master Thief? 'Thanks for the warning, Basso.' I thought bitterly, turning to Garrett and giving him my full attention: all traces of playful sarcasm gone, it was time to talk Business. "This is the first I've heard of it, which is very unlike Basso: as he knows damn-well that I work alone. I'll be sure to give our 'Wonderful' Fence a piece of my mind for the lack of a heads up before we head out, but if he's got us paired together out of all the Thieves in The City: it must be one hell of a Job. Very well, Garrett, I'll bite: where are we going, and what are we stealing?" I questioned, keeping careful watch for any tell-tale sign of a lie, and though Garrett didn't seem the type to do so: the fact that Basso was pairing us up for a Job without even so much as a warning when we'd never worked with each other before sounded highly suspicious to me.

"He's still getting the details from the Client, don't know what we're Lifting other than there's two: one on each side of The Thief-Taker General's Mansion. Basso told me the Client wants us to get one item from his wife's chambers and another from The General's Office during his wife's upcoming Promotion Party, supposed to be a lot of High-End Attendees and even more Guards." he said, looking just as annoyed by the complete lack of information as I was, which didn't bode well for us: I never liked going in anywhere blind, especially when it came to The General. "And why on Earth would we go into that Manor without the slightest clue of what we're even looking for? I would sooner trust The Watch over an Amateur Client. Sounds like a set-up to me." I stated, apparently voicing both of our concerns, judging by the slight nod I received in reply: he was quick to catch onto my justified concerns: I'll give him that.

"Basso said you've been in there before, any good Thief knows never to return to the Scene of a Crime: and yet here you are, going back again. Why?" he questioned, no-doubt knowing that I was his best chance of getting inside and back out again with the most loot without being seen: so why was he asking if he already knew the answer? "Aside from being your best chance of getting through that literal Death Trap unseen? Basso knows I'm always up for sticking it to The General, been through there four times already and it's always fun to see his face turn purple afterwards: almost took him for a walking plum last time." I replied, hoping I didn't just imagine his eye twitch in amusement as he mulled over my answer. "You better hope your personal vendetta doesn't get us both killed, Nightingale." he growled, not even trying to hide the underlying threat in his voice: and I knew full-well neither of us trusted or even liked each other in the least, but were being forced to work together on a High-Risk Job and compromises had to be made to ensure its success.

"It's not my fault they replace their Artifacts and Heirlooms with higher quality ones every other week. And the Guards they hire aren't the smartest lot: how's a Thief to resist? Besides, Basso nags me like an old woman every time he wants some of The General's imported whiskey: supposed to be the best on the island, wonder how The Baron feels about that? No-doubt our Fence will ask for another bottle on the way out, he's been pining for it like an Urchin craves sweets." I mused, rolling my eyes good-naturedly at the deadpanned expression in Garrett's eyes: he was not amused by my answer. "Good to know you can't resist a Lure: how you haven't been caught by The Watch is beyond me, all it would take is a baited trap to put an end to The Nightingale: your namesake really does suit you." he grunted, making my jaws clench as I bristled, not liking what he was implying in the least: but would try my hardest to remember Basso's warning and play nice.

"And yet we're paired for a Job. So do us both a favor and 'kindly' shut-it, before you find yourself sent into the traps and Guards on purpose. Now then, I suppose I should show you the routes: I'd rather not risk my neck looking for you because you decided to get lost. The ships are coming in soon and I'd rather them not see us standing up here and call The Watch, come with me: if we're going to work together, there's something you should see." I said, turning on my heel and headed back inside the watch room: relighting the candles and filling the wide, circular room with warm, yellow light.

When it came down to it, I honestly didn't care if he followed me or not: Garrett could no-doubt handle himself based on his reputation, however, I was not willing to risk my life if any foolish mistakes were made. Judging by my lack of a companion inside The Lighthouse, it was obvious the feelings of trust were mutual: a fact that could either lead to an eventual fight, or kill us both. Either way, the tension was bound to snap: and I was definitely not looking forward to the moment it did, and judging by the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach: it was going to happen soon, and I got the sickening feeling that something was about to go very very wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

It took every ounce of patience Garrett had left not to turn around and leave: first she humiliates him as he struggles in one of her traps that he somehow didn't see (let alone could get out of), then she puts him in his place like a disobedient child being scolded by his mother. Granted, he did let her taunting get the best of him when he'd threatened to silence her, but that was absolutely no excuse to allow her to get away with treating him in such a disrespectful way: even had the audacity to outright laugh at him and his futile attempts at freeing himself without so much as saving him an ounce of dignity.

As soon as she turned on her heel and headed back inside without a care, he briefly wondered if she knew how foolish it was for her to show her back to him: especially if he were to take advantage of her blind-spot and had her removed from his hair. If he didn't need her Intel and assistance for this Job as much as Basso claimed, he'd have just vanished from The Lighthouse and put as much distance between himself and the infuriating girl as possible. Clenching his fist with gritted teeth, he ignored the persistent little voice in his head that had been insisting the only reason why he wanted to leave was due to him being embarrassed over being caught in such a simple trap for the past ten minutes, while another, smaller part of his mind somewhat…enjoyed it in a way.

In trying to get the jump on her by entering through an area he thought would be neglected due to its almost inaccessible location for an ordinary person and therefore easy: he failed to realize just how far she was willing to go to protect her home from all sorts of threats and ended up trapped as a result. It had been the first time in a very long time that he'd been snagged, and while it bruised his pride something fierce: it also gave him an idea of just how much he'd actually underestimated her, to his building annoyance: and while he was quietly appreciative of the fact that she didn't kill him or let him fall when she had the chance, the mischievous looks her emerald eyes gave him and her taunts told him she'd been quite aware of the reason he'd been caught, and seemed to be greatly amused by it.

She knew his game, it seemed: and while he was infuriated that his plan to catch her off-guard didn't work, her hidden, taunting smirk seemed to goad 'Try again, you won't win': and it somehow ignited an uncharacteristic spark of Challenge in him that he was unwilling to let go. Garrett was The Master Thief in this City for a reason, and there was no way in hell he was going to allow an insignificant Thief like The Nightingale muddy his reputation with her infuriating, childish wiles: he'd sooner have a merry pint with The Watch. With that in mind, he decided that he will NOT be captured or found defenseless again: if this was how she wished to play, then he'd just have to play better and adjust his strategy.

He'd gone easy on her by underestimating her and paid for it, now it was personal: he'd win their unspoken challenge and would hold his Victory over her until she admitted he was the better Thief, or better yet: retired from the profession altogether. There was only room for one Master Thief in this City, and he was not looking for competition for a title he'd earned through blood, sweat, and years of training and hardship. That title was His, and he was not willing to share with anyone: not even Erin had that privilege. But then again, as talented as his Protégé admittedly was: she'd often let her arrogance, pride and competitive nature get in the way of her head, often ending with her in situations that put her life and the lives of others at risk.

And as hard as Garrett tried to break her of that lethal habit, he knew it was only something that injury and experience could do: as much as he dreaded the former when it came to Erin. As exhausting and reckless as she was, he cared for her dearly: and as often as they fought, often ending with bad-blood and biting words, he doubted those feelings would change: at least on his end. And while his observations of Rayne showed multiple, similar traits as Erin tended to have, he'd also noticed subtle differences that set her apart from his Protégé and into a category all her own: namely her lack of aggression towards finding an uninvited stranger in her home: regardless if it happened to be him, she only truly reacted negatively once he'd threatened her first, and even then: she never made physical contact.

Which to many, may label her as 'passive' or 'weak', but to him: it spoke volumes. When he'd first studied her in Basso's Office, her stealth and grace quickly labeled her as 'dangerous' and a threat to him: new, and unpredictable with unknown skills and agenda. Now, he'd have to carefully rethink that perhaps he'd been too quick to judge her potential morals, in her lack of aggression towards his defenseless form when she'd had plenty of chances to end his life: he'd learned she was reluctant to cause harm when she had no reason to, at least at that particular moment: told him as much as she cut him loose and allowed him to regain his bearings.

Regardless of this discovery, he was still unwilling to show any further sort of weakness to her: especially when she'd retreated into her abode with the silent command for him to follow her, hidden in the statement of having something to show him: and while neither of them had given one any reason to fear the other, the mistrust was still there on both sides, and Garrett had no intention of letting that change anytime soon: especially where the Serpentine people of The City were concerned. Give any of them an inch, and they'll rob you blind and leave you for dead the first chance they got: he could count on both hands the amount of times someone put their trust in the wrong person, and ended up in the gutters for the Rats as a result, and Garrett didn't survive on his own for as long as he had, being so naïve as to follow in their footsteps: his trust didn't come easy, and with exceptionally-good reason.

That being said, he now found himself torn between a rock and a hard place: on one hand, he could trust his gut and avoid the potentially-dangerous situation waiting for him inside if he followed her by turning on his heel and leaving the infuriating Thief in the dust and save himself the trouble of dealing with her any longer. However, on the other hand: he also knew if he left, he'd be leaving The Lighthouse without a plan and potentially-lifesaving Intel for the upcoming Heist: the very one that they were unfortunately partnered for. And he also knew if he left, Basso'd never let him hear the end of it, and was absolutely not looking forward to having that particular conversation: especially after he'd already agreed to it beforehand.

Glancing toward the wall of windows in front of him, he didn't even bother hiding the scowl that stretched across his hidden face as the once-darkened room lit up with the glow of what had to be dozens of candles. Great, as if lighting the lantern wasn't bad enough: now she had to practically scream to the entirety of The City that someone lived up here, making him wonder (yet again) how exactly she had survived this long in such an obvious location without any sort of confrontation with The Watch, at least the girl was smart enough to tint the glass to prevent anyone from seeing directly inside if anyone DID happen to come looking. "The plans aren't going to make themselves, and I highly-doubt you'll understand any of it, standing out there. What are you even doing, Garrett? Afraid I'll bite?" the taunting, infuriating voice called: bringing him back to the present, and the current headache that was running rampant between his ears.

Biting back a growl, he once-again reminded himself why he couldn't leave before taking a deep breath and reluctantly followed after her and into The Lighthouse. Whatever he expected once he'd entered The Nightingale's hideaway, certainly wasn't this: what had once been a barren, crumbling tower had been completely transformed into exceptional living quarters, and she did not disappoint with its upkeep from what he could see. With the exception of the rafters being full of dust and cobwebs, Garrett couldn't find hardly any dust or dirt on any of the surfaces scattered throughout the wide, circular room: she must've cleaned just moments before he arrived.

As he took in his new surroundings with a keen, critical eye: being very mindful of where the door was and made sure to keep it in his peripherals as he appraised the walls and floor for any traps lying in wait for him. After several minutes of carefully searching and finding none in his immediate sight, he allowed his trained gaze to take in the rest of the large, circular room and began to believe he'd found exactly how she was able to train herself to move and sneak so fluidly without so much as a sound. Ignoring Rayne as she dug around through the drawers of a desk to his immediate right, he focused instead on the large maze taking up the majority of the room with the exception of a red and gold rug covering the space between the maze and her desk with several, heavy-looking cloth sacks resting on it.

Judging from their bulk, they appeared to be full of stones or bricks and seemed to serve as weights meant to be carried either through the maze itself, or up and down the several sturdy ropes hanging from the rafters. Well, that explained her grace and musculature: having to lug those around while trying to move silently through an obstacle course was an interesting way to practice, he'll give her that: as each one had to weigh at least fifty pounds, give or take a few. Taking a closer look at the tall panels of the maze, he also spotted handholds carved into the wooden structure and had several active traps that were commonly laid by The Watch splayed along the walls and floor of the pathways he could see: it seems she was speaking the truth when she mentioned how well she knew the people of the border, especially if she moved the traps around and made navigation more complicated for herself.

Positioned in pairs throughout, above and outside the maze were at least eight mannequins dressed as armed Watchmen Patrols of various Rank and Class with cold torches placed to light up their line of 'sight' and would be a challenge to sneak past them without gaining their attention if they were real. "I plan to add Dogs and Birds to that." she stated, not pulling her attention away from her search: but somehow knowing exactly where he was looking, and while it wouldn't be the same as navigating an actual Watch Patrol: even Garrett had to admit such an idea was beneficial for any Job or Heist that required extensive planning, especially if she was able to map out the Guards and traps' locations exactly where they would be at the time of the Job.

"Do I even want to know how you got the armor and weapons for those?" he questioned, not even wanting to know how she managed that one: especially once he got a feeling for her methods of capture, if his earlier humiliation was anything to go by. "Honestly? Probably not. The only thing you need to concern yourself with is that they're not dead: though I highly-doubt any of them will be able to show their faces in public again. You should've heard the screeching of their women, now THAT was funny: I almost feel bad for the poor sods." she replied, sounding quite pleased with herself, to Garrett's dismay, he was no friend of The Watch: but even he was aware of the consequences one was met with if they were seen with another outside their spouses or family. To think that Rayne was willing to go that far for something as trivial as 'borrowing' their Gear…

"And no, that definitely was NOT how I acquired them: interesting for you to think so though, didn't expect your mind to head in that…particular direction, Master Thief." she snickered, no-doubt noticing his lengthy silence and had unfortunately assumed correctly where his traitorous mind took him: he'd die before he'd admit it, however. "Oh come on, I just had the damned thing: where the hell did I put it?" she growled to herself, drawing his adept attention over to her and her current predicament of digging and searching for the apparent 'something' she had to show him, but conveniently, couldn't seem to find it. "Would you like some help? You seem to be struggling." he mocked, crossing his arms smugly over his chest, taking full advantage of the chance to throw her previous, taunting words back in her face: and he'd be lying if the resounding 'thump' of her head banging into the underside of the desk didn't bring an amused smirk to his hidden face.

"That better had been a genuine offer, Garrett. And no, I don't need any sort of help: the blasted thing's right here." she growled, rubbing the back of her head as she stood from her kneeling position: a large, rolled-up piece of parchment in her right hand that had been neatly held closed with a piece of string. Meeting her glare with a sly smirk of his own, he ignored her rude gesture before uncrossing his arms and walking over to the desk so he could see the details of the parchment in the light of the candles. It had surprised him that the only source of light in the room were the three candles on the desk and the cold, dead torches of the maze, instead of the dozens that he'd imagined earlier. It turned out, that the windows themselves acted as a sort of mirror: taking the simple, flickering light and throwing it around the room, reflecting it back-and-forth until it appeared as if the light was made by far more candles than he initially expected: an interesting illusion for her to discover and exploit, but no less annoying and dangerous for a Thief, especially if they wished to remain hidden.

Leaning over the aged, wooden desk, he noticed just how scarred its surface was: full of dents, scratches, burns and other mars that could've been made from several dozen kinds of tools of various sizes: leading Garrett to believe that this particular desk also served as a workbench of sorts, and had been the birthplace of who-knows-what: especially once he caught sight of the many poisonous plants hanging to dry above a small, nearby bookshelf: many of which were unfamiliar to him: all of which nearly-impossible to find in The City, making him briefly wonder how she managed to obtain them, before cautiously wondering WHY she would need them at all. Speaking of which, he didn't exactly know how to feel as Rayne placed the parchment under her arm and reached across the desk: grabbing up a glass beaker that appeared to be halfway full of a light-green powder before closing the opening with a cork with a gentleness and care that quite-frankly, set his nerves on edge: her actions hinting at the danger within the small, glass container.

"It's not ready yet, don't even know if the recipe needs adjusting yet: better safe than sorry until I can test it properly." she explained, placing the dust-filled beaker safely on top of a nearby shelf, well out of the way of any possible accidents that could lead to the dust's escape from its fragile containment. Well…that was reassuring: apparently, she was making things she didn't even know what they would do, might need to add 'impulsive' to the already-long list of words he could use to describe Rayne: none of which painted her in a positive light in his eyes thus far. "Good to know you're more likely to blow yourself up over being caught by The Watch." he said dryly, raising an eyebrow at her answering 'scoff' as she moved multiple tools and papers out of the way: clearing space for the parchment still snuggled under her arm.

Glancing the papers over, what he'd first assumed as nothing more than jumbled notes and scribbled nonsense: were actually highly-detailed illustrations, instructions and recipes for items and weapons that actually, seemed very useful not just for a Thief: but for anyone with enough sense and knowledge to put them to use: she certainly was educated, if her elegant, cursive calligraphy was anything to go by. "Nonsense, I'm not so reckless and naïve as to mix components blindly just to see what would happen: it comes with years of spying on Chemists and the Plague Doctors and countless more hours of reading to understand what's what and the properties of each item that goes into my projects. I know what to expect, it's just the amount of each item that needs adjusted: and this…particular recipe can and will kill you until I get it right, hence why it's contained and over there." she dismissed, placing a heavy-looking leather-bound journal into a snug nook in the bookshelf, sparing said lethal object an appraising glance before reaching for the parchment and untied the twine before laying it flat on the desk: exposing the dark ink of the drawings that had been previously hidden from view.

What had once been hidden away, was actually the highly-detailed blueprints of each of the four floors of The Thief-Taker General's Mansion, and Garrett would be lying if he admitted he wasn't impressed: mainly of her obvious knowledge she'd gained through her spying, if nothing else. "Now, you said we were being sent after two items? Then the first thing we need to decide is who goes for what: knowing Basso, he'd already showed you a map like this, however, this one shows the hidden corridors and passageways that had been forgotten and sealed by the original owners. Since we don't know what we're looking for, we can only assume its important and therefore: locked away somewhere, and the Harlan's are known to change the combinations of their Safes quite often, its incredibly irritating. So, Garrett, what's your Target, the wife's chambers, or The General's Office?" she asked, interrupting Garrett's intense, concentrated stare as he memorized the layout of each individual floor of the Manor.

"Won't be easy either way, this is supposed to be a Noble Gathering: a lot of Guards and a lot of steel to go along with them, Thieves and swords do not get along well." he stated, glancing at his fellow Thief and watched her nod out of the corner of his eye: her gaze hardening into a focused expression, no-doubt analyzing and planning routes not just for herself, but for him as the Client required both of these mystery items and it would do neither of their reputations any good if they'd returned empty-handed. "Luckily for us, we will have minimal contact with them, and I highly-doubt they even know about these pathways. If you do decide to go for The General's Office, there's an old coal-chute along this side here that leads down into the basement: from there, you can use this path here: it's supposed to be an old evacuation tunnel that goes from the basement's store room to the meeting hall on the second floor. It's not the most direct route, but it'll give you free access past the Guards that will be stationed here, here, and here: however, if you're going to Pickpocket the Guests, your best bet would be to take this route here: it leads into the ventilation system that connects to all of the private and gathering areas: though if you plan on doing that, you'll want to cut the power to the generator in the basement first to give yourself enough cover to get away with it: The General's Guards aren't the smartest lot, but they're not blind. While you're doing that, I'll sneak in through this entrance here and make my way through the western quarters: with all the Guards and Servants in this Wing occupied with the Guests and Ceremony in the ball room, it'll give me enough time to circle around to this hidden corridor here, which will hopefully lead to the secret entrance of the wife's chambers if it hadn't caved in yet. Once I'm done in there, I'll meet you at this hallway in the middle of the second floor to confirm we both have Basso's Commissions before we split off again on the way out. Because Basso would doubtlessly nag me for that damned whiskey, I'll backtrack through your route and slip out through the coal-chute: while your best bet would be…through this window on the third floor, here: it leads to a shadowed balcony overlooking the gardens and should be pretty clear, granted the Guards are too drunk to pay attention. Once we're both out, I'll meet you back at The Burrick so we can cash in the spoils, sound good to you?" Rayne explained, pointing to each location before making eye contact with him: making sure he was paying attention and agreeing with what she was saying so far: patiently waiting for any objections or ideas of his own.

Even though he'd never worked with her before: Garrett had to admit that her plan was solid: borderline brilliant, even. And he didn't know how to feel about it, while he appreciated knowing where he was going and what he was up against in advance: her plan sort of felt as if he were…cheating? No, not cheating: this wasn't a game, but it left him with a feeling he couldn't explain: and he didn't know if it was a good thing or not. One thing was certain, The Nightingale was highly intelligent: as if her entire existence was a game of Chess, full of Moves and Counter Moves: and Garrett was beginning to understand what Basso meant, and why he chose her as his partner on this Job. While he still didn't trust her, he couldn't deny her plan was nearly flawless if it actually worked, and actually provided plenty of room to improvise if it didn't.

While Garrett was and always will be The Master Thief of The City, even he had to admit the girl had potential talent and would make a worthy Rival if she continued thinking this way: no wonder he was unable to get the jump on her, which meant if he was going to win his challenge: he'd have to imagine how he would ambush himself. But that sort of careful planning would have to wait, there was work to do, first. "Seems like a decent strategy, you're not itching for confrontation and are actually thinking like a Thief: however, a piece of paper isn't going to be worth much if they have traps at every turn, especially if they switch things around at the last minute or if they find these passages of yours. Last thing we need is to have someone start a panic at the sight of a pair of 'Uninvited Guests' at the buffet table." he pointed out, watching her eye twitch with amusement at his sarcasm before she adjusted her hold on the curling parchment and turned it to a different angle: showing him a different view of the hallways and staircases leading to both areas of the Manor that would be occupied by each of them.

"Fair point, however: because the gathering is likely to be contained to these areas here, they would only have the restricted areas trapped to prevent Guests from wandering into places they shouldn't. And unfortunately, there's a lot of those places for people like us: the last time I was there, I overheard the Guards going on about a new 'Alarm System' The Baron came up with: supposed to be triggered by tripwires, made of fishing line and nearly-invisible to even the most highly-trained eye in the dark. Knowing The General, he'd have those placed at the entrances to hallways and doorways in addition to the traditional Dart Traps and their pressure plates: so we're going to have to be extra-vigilant if they covered them up with ash to hide their shiny coating." she explained dryly as she showed him the possible locations, making his lip curl in distaste for this new information: while it wasn't uncommon for The Baron to design new traps and such with his…'ideas', this particular one would prove to be an exceptional problem for not just them: but Thieves everywhere in The City.

Invisible tripwires that could be attached to not only alarms, but a number of different, lethal traps could very well end even him if he wasn't careful. And judging by Rayne's reaction as she warned him, she was very-well aware of the danger they posed and was rightfully wary as a result: a reaction that both reassured him and filled him with an uncomfortable amount of dread. While it was reassuring that the girl showed caution while in the presence of a threat instead of rushing to meet it or brushing it off like Erin would: it also sent an unwelcome chill down his back if the threat was great enough to warrant such a response from such a mischievous and sarcastic Thief like The Nightingale: she, who had taunted and laughed at him like he was nothing more than a common Citizen.

That being said, he sent the blueprints a heated glare of annoyance before rising to his full height: sending a steely look towards his fellow Thief as she raised an eyebrow in question. "Leaving already?" she asked, seemingly knowing where his mind was drifting to as he glanced toward the open doors before glaring back at her. "Plans are made, now we wait: once we meet up with Basso, I'll fill you in on what he wants." his answer was cryptic, he knew: but she seemed to understand well enough, judging by her single, curt nod as she rolled the blueprints back up and retied it before storing it away in her desk. "If all goes well, we'll be walking out of there with full pockets and an Angry General: sounds like a pleasant ending to a lonely evening. And Garrett, try to give it some effort next time, won't you? It wouldn't do if The entire City knew how easy you actually are, then again...I wonder how Basso would react to the Polaroids? Certainly would make for an excellent Conversation Piece." she replied, snickering as his eye involuntarily twitched as her sarcastic nature returned: and Garrett couldn't get out of The Lighthouse fast enough, her infuriating laughter chasing him from the balcony and echoed in his ears: even as the roaring of the sea drowned out all other sounds as he hit the rocky ground running and took to the shadows and made his way back to The Clock Tower with haste: the Client was due to give Basso the rest of the information soon, meaning the time for the Heist was fast-approaching.

And as much as he hated to admit it, Rayne's information was solid and provided him with just as many problems as it did results and Garrett didn't like being led in circles, especially when unexpected tidbits like The General's new traps came into the equation. How he was going to navigate something he couldn't see, he didn't know: one thing was certain, he'd have to put all other Jobs on hold as soon as he returned to his hideaway: he had a lot to think about that could quite-literally make or break not only the success of this Heist, but also whether or not either of them would still be breathing by the time it was done.


	5. Chapter 5

For several minutes after Garrett left, I was still having a hard time controlling myself: I had absolutely no idea why, but tormenting The Master Thief was almost as fun as seeing The General's face after I pick his Mansion clean…again. Perhaps it was the fact that he silently lies to himself into believing he was unbothered, and yet was so responsive to my teasing: or maybe it was how he acts like a pouting Urchin and storms off every time his pride gets hurt. Either way, I enjoyed it immensely: gives me enough time to carefully and secretly analyze him under the impression of being childish and annoying in order to see what sort of Thief I'm working with: if he's capable of patience under the heavy strain of misfortune and how long it will last, or if his resolve will snap like a twig and would let his emotions get the better of him to the point where he'll react on impulse.

While to him, I probably looked like an Amateur with a childish and unprofessional attitude: when in reality, it was visibly obvious he hadn't a clue there was an actual reason for it, and I fully intended for it to stay that way: at least until I was certain he was able to be trusted. Regardless of his reputation and the stories Basso'd tell me over a pint, cards or the occasional Chess game: you could never be too careful with things like 'trust' in this City: regardless of what the multiple, different Sources said, the mistrust (and oftentimes the manipulation and deception) of everyone around you was one of the most important rules one had to follow in order to survive to see another day: especially if you grew up alone in the savage, unforgiving underbelly of The City.

And while Basso often portrayed Garrett as a Thief with morals and good intentions, that was still no excuse to treat him any different than anyone else I'd come into contact with: and the feelings were clearly mutual, which was good: at least we understood each other on that front and knew it wasn't personal, if that particular detail even mattered: it was just how things were. That being said, I closed and locked the balcony doors and replaced my current project, journal and other tools back on the desk: ready and waiting for me to pick up where I left off, only to be forced to wait a little longer as my stomach gave a loud, drawn-out snarl.

With a hidden scowl, I glared at it with heavy annoyance: growing up alone, you never knew when or where you'll be fortunate enough to have your next meal: and hunger was something I'd quickly gotten used to, more specifically: the fact I didn't always go to sleep full when I was young, and had spent weeks training myself to ignore it. 'May as well make a list of what I need in the meantime.' I thought with an irritated sigh: annoyed I had once-again been interrupted from my work, before rising to my feet and lifted the trap door and descended down the spiral staircase and into the kitchen: glad it was located on the floor below me, instead of all the way at the bottom of The Lighthouse.

Lighting the candles, I walked around the counters I had built and installed in the circular room and opened the small closet I had turned into my pantry of sorts: taking inventory of what food items I had left and which ones I needed to stock up on. "Vegetable stew, it is." I mumbled to myself: finding very little food remaining in the several large, Burlap sacks I had stored away: leaving only a few potatoes, carrots and green beans: nothing extravagant, but would serve its purpose as a meal all the same. Taking grocery notes in a small notebook on the counter, I carried the ingredients across the room and set them in the sink to be washed, kneeling down and turned the valve that allowed fresh water to climb through the pipes from the nearby well and into the sink.

Rising from my crouch, I removed my gloves and gave my bare hands a harsh scrubbing before I poured the vegetables in the water to soak for a few minutes, stepping away from the sink and began digging around in the cupboards beneath the stove that had been a nightmare and a half to not only carry up here, but install and get working without any form of electricity: that privilege was reserved only for The Baron and the High-Class Aristocrats and Nobles scattered among the Districts. Placing the cast-iron pot on the stove, I let it sit where it was while I picked up my scrub-brush and made sure each and every one of the few remaining vegetables was clean and free of dirt: pausing for a short while longer to pull one of the knives from the block and cut the eyes from the potatoes before beginning the repetitive task of peeling and cutting them.

'Wish I had some sausage links to go with this.' I thought, hoping I would be able to restock soon: really didn't want to have to travel all the way to Stonemarket just to gather supplies when the Trading Ships were much closer and carried fresher, higher quality goods, instead. Once they were peeled and cut into manageable chunks, I chopped the carrots and snapped the beans before I filled the pot with water and tossed them in: lighting the gas stove and waited for it to simmer. Knowing it will take a while for the water to boil, and even longer for my meal to finish: I retied my gloves and headed even further down into The Lighthouse, jogging down the uneven and cracked stone stairs and into my bedroom: pulling my mask down and smiling at Lucille as she sang her songs and preened her iridescent feathers in the light of the candles scattered throughout the room.

Lighting the candles on the desk near her cage, I dug around in the drawers of the scarred and worn desk, searching the cluttered mess for a blank tinderbox: feeling a small smirk stretch across my face as Lucille hopped up on my shoulder and started picking at the loose, fiery curls that had been peeking from under my hood. 'There you are, you little shit.' I thought as I finally found one in the jumbled mess of messages Basso had been sending me every time he either wanted to rant about something, or whenever he had a Job for me.

"Really should burn these." I mused, flipping the blank one on its face and dipped my pen in the dark ink before beginning to write out my latest message to my Fence. **'You owe me.'** The three, simple words that I knew would send a shiver down his back: not that I would ever hurt Basso, but the Boxman was very aware of how much I hated surprises dropped in my lap without so much as a warning and was soon to pay for it. Opening the window, I shut my eyes in pleasure for a short while as the cool, fresh sea-breeze blew in through the open window and caressed my face as it blew past me: once-again making me glad I lived here to enjoy the freshest air in The City: regardless if it carried the tang of salt from the sea.

"To Basso." I told the Nightingale, who ceased her playful pecking and snapped to attention and took the tinderbox in her beak with a garbled 'chirp', spreading her wings and taking to the overcast night sky to complete her task without hesitation. I usually don't bother signing my messages like Basso does: the sight of the ebon-black Nightingale was more than confirmation enough, it also helped keep my identity a mystery from all but those who absolutely needed to know it: which were very few and even further between. Once she was gone, I pulled away from the window and retreated back up to the kitchen to check on my meal and gage how much longer I had to wait to for it to be finished: pausing next to the cupboards and silverware drawers and pulled out a wooden bowl and a clean fork while I waited in the meantime.

Glancing in the steaming, simmering pot, I set my bowl on the counter and scooped some of the potatoes and carrots with the ladle and gave them an experimental 'poke' with my fork: knowing the potatoes cooked the fastest, but the carrots and beans weren't quite ready yet. With this in mind, I placed them back in the pot before turning away and focusing on setting the small table to the side of the room, placing my fork on the woven placemat and pouring myself a glass of water from the sink before taking a seat and waited. As I watched the steam rise from the pot like smoke, I felt my mind drift to the upcoming Job and couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement come to life in the depths of my chest.

Yes, I worked alone and preferred it that way, but I had been partnered on a Job with The legendary Master Thief: someone many considered to be a Myth, a literal Ghost that nobody has ever seen except for the barest of glimpses of a shadow in the darkness before it was gone. When I was new to the profession, I would listen to the stories and rumors I'd hear through windows and doorways: amazed by the skills of this one Thief, and vowed to myself I would become just as skillful as he was and earn myself a reputation of my own: a name to be feared and respected, instead of nothing more than a starving Urchin waiting in line for a Dead Cart or a spot in The Gallows.

After I'd actually met him, however: I admit I wasn't all that impressed with the man's infuriating, condescending attitude, nor him with my own mischievous one: to my utter annoyance, I didn't spend twenty-six years among the stone and sludge learning and honing my skills in hopes of at least some form of recognition or respect from someone I had come to greatly respect for being The City's Best: and would take great pleasure proving that I was just as good as he was. However, I refused to let my pride get the best of me as I worked to gain such an honor, if I ever did: and I absolutely refused to have him see me as someone as reckless, stubborn and arrogant as Erin, and would never compromise a Job over something as petty as arrogance, superiority or pride, something I also intended to show my partner as we completed this Heist and picked the place clean while doing it.

Snapping back to reality, I mentally punched myself for even thinking I cared what The Master Thief thought about me: I needed no one's approval of how I chose to live or my skills and talents, and while having his respect would be a valuable bonus: the look on his face as he'd begrudgingly admit it would be even more so, though I had a feeling he'd rather die first. Tossing that aggravating thought to the wind, I got up from my seat with my bowl in tow and scooped a generous portion of the finished stew into it: relishing in the warmth that seeped through the wood and into my hands as the evening chill creeped in through the cracks in the surrounding stone. Returning to my seat, I dug into my meal and was pleased to find that while I would have preferred to have it simmer throughout the day with all the ingredients involved: it still turned out filling and tasty for what it was worth.

That being said, it didn't take me long to finish: leaving me with more than enough leftovers to store away in glass jars and placed safely in the preserving bin: the cold air from outside and the near-freezing stone being more than enough to keep it fresh for at least a few days more. Once the leftovers were stored and I had cleaned my mess, I placed the pot, bowl, fork and glass in the sink to soak for a while before they were scrubbed clean and put away. Satisfied, I returned to the watch room and gazed at my current project as it sat innocently on the desk: wondering if there was enough time to continue working on it tonight, before deciding it would be better to wait until the next evening: especially when this particular recipe required my full attention and had very little room for error: and Garrett's unexpected visit had left my mind and thoughts in such turmoil, that any attempt to continue messing with it tonight would be most…unfortunate.

'I appreciate that, truly.' I mentally growled, not even phased by how sarcastic my inner thoughts sounded as I approached the balcony and stepped outside: making sure to lock the doors behind me and stayed clear of the lantern's light as I enjoyed the cool breeze and sounds of the sea. "Since Basso clearly doesn't have a Job for me right now, I suppose I could pay Auldale a visit." I mused, feeling a mischievous smile spread across my face as I lifted my mask back to where it belonged, before I climbed onto the topmost railing, and jumped over the edge without an ounce of fear: enjoying the freedom of freefalling for a short while, before I used my momentum and flipped around and threw my grapple at the stone with lethal precision: its hooked teeth biting fiercely into the stone of The Lighthouse as I held on tight to the rope as I came to a sudden, but fluid halt: stopping my fall and allowing myself to regain my bearings and slide down the rest of the way, gently landing on the wet, rocky ground with hardly a sound.

With a well-practiced tug, the grapple came free and allowed me to catch it out of the air as it fell and placed it back in its holster at my hip before I turned on my heel and took off running across the rocky ground and up the side of an apartment building: heading north along The Thieves' Highway towards Auldale: one of the highest class Districts of The City, one full of potential Targets and even more valuables to snatch. On the downside, The Watchmen that patrolled this District were well-trained and a lot smarter than the ones in Stonemarket: which made sneaking past them much more of a challenge and actually put my skills to the test to the point where I'd actually had to duck for cover under the massive, wooden and stone bridge separating North Dayport and Auldale as a Watch Hound startled snarling and tugged its master and two companions in my direction.

"Hey, Artemus! Shut that damned Mutt up, will you?! Tired of it losing its shit every time it sees a Rat!" an older voice snarled, cueing the snarling Dog to choke on its barking as its master yanked back on the lead and did just that with a well-placed swat: judging by the sudden, pitiful 'yelp'. "Sorry Sir, she's fresh out of training and still young: we're working on it." the Dog's master replied, sounding embarrassed at the scolding he received from his Superior and the muffled laughter that no-doubt came from his previously-silent companion. "See to it that you do, The Baron's Watch can't have Hounds going after everything they see, son: else it won't know what to do if a Criminal runs into the Crowd." the older voice said, ending that conversation as the group passed my hiding spot and vanished around the corner, allowing me to climb down from the support rafters under the bridge and scurry up a rope hanging from the rafters of a warehouse across the street.

Once I was safely back on the rooftops, I did a quick scan of the area: checking for anything in the immediate area that was worth snatching, before my gaze was stolen by two large shapes creeping over the arch of a nearby rooftop, before vanishing through the darkness: one much smaller than the other, and neither of them very quiet or graceful. 'Wonderful, the Noose-Bait are out.' I thought in disdain, wishing those who had no talent for Larceny would quit while they were ahead: especially when The Watch would be on high-alert for days on end after a Thief that had no business snooping was caught and hanged, making it that much more difficult for those like Garrett and myself to actually complete our Jobs.

"They won't last long." I muttered to myself before continuing on my way, reaching Auldale within the next half hour or so: having to duck around several more Watch Patrols and well-lit areas that had added to the amount of wasted time, overall. Glancing to the horizon, I couldn't hold back the frustrated growl that escaped from between my teeth: as I noticed the eastern sky begin to lighten, leaving me with little-to-no time to pick through any homes or shops for valuables: but that did NOT mean I would be unable to pay a very…specific building in mind a little visit. "This should be interesting." I mused, feeling a smirk stretch across my face as I reached the top of a Nobleman's chimney and headed east: leaping and climbing over the uneven rooftops for several more streets before sliding down the last roof and landed quietly behind a small hedge in a luscious, well-kept garden surrounded by a high, stone wall and filled with well-groomed hedges and blooming flowerbeds and several proud trees scattered throughout.

Towards the center of the garden was a marble fountain depicting a Swan spreading its wings as it prepared to take flight as it was surrounded by multiple other sorts of birds, fish and other animals carved along the basin. Glad the grass beneath my boots and repetitive noise of the fountain made it easy to silence my already-soundless footsteps, I didn't have to try very hard to avoid the several electrical lampposts and sleepy Guards scattered along the bricked path that lead around the large garden and towards the even larger Manor that was just as pristine as the rest of the property: using benches and hedges for cover as I made my way around the shadows and towards an old, warped, apple tree: ducking quickly behind its large, twisting trunk as the familiar sounds of my Target's footsteps gradually made their way in my direction.

Hugging the shadows, I reached behind me and gripped my cape and draped it around me like a sort of blanket: further distorting my human shape in the darkness and making me appear as just another part of the tree, leaving my Target without the slightest clue they were being watched. 'There you are.' I thought, narrowing my eyes as a sinister grin split across my face as my Target passed by my hiding spot and continued on their way through the darkened garden: allowing me to move away from the tree and stalk behind and just out of sight. Ducking for cover behind a hedge as my Target suddenly turned around, I was able to creep closer without giving off any hint that I was there: just as I wanted. Instead of one of my usual Targets of Nobles or Guards, this…particular Target carried nothing of value in sight, and was much MUCH smaller than even the shortest man.

Waiting for the boy to step into the darkness, I couldn't stop the evil grin from spreading across my hidden face as he ventured into the shadows: not even realizing I had crept directly behind him, that is: until I struck like a Hawk on a Raven, snatching the small boy up in my arms with one hand around his mouth and the other around his middle as he thrashed, struggled and let out muffled screams no one would hear. Keeping his small body pressed firmly against my chest, I felt my grin widen as he seemed to finally realize what was happening and actually started fighting back: using his boney elbows and kept aiming for my eyes and throat, while trying to throw the back of his head into my nose. It was only when I was trying to avoid taking his left elbow to the jaw, when he managed to land a solid hit to my breast with his right: causing me to immediately drop him with a pained grunt of surprise.

Upon realizing he was free, instead of taking off running, the boy turned around with his small fists raised in a sloppy, sideways fighting stance: only to have him freeze in place for several seconds before his small face lit up with a wide, toothy grin as he caught sight of my slumped over form as I tried to get the breath back in my lungs, subconsciously holding my offended breast in my glove in order to protect it from further harm. "Shadow! You scared me!" he giggled, laughing at my pain as I stood up and crossed my arms over my chest as I glared down at him: not at all pleased by his reaction to my agonized suffering. He was a tiny little thing: with the top of his head barely reaching my hip and was dressed in clothing that was a bit too big for him and more than a bit worse for wear, but judging by the look in his mischievous, blue eyes and wide smile that was missing a few baby teeth, he didn't seem to care as he beamed at me.

"What did you expect? That was a sneaky shot, and you have absolutely NO idea how much that actually hurts! You and your damned elbows!" I growled, not actually upset with him in the least: though I couldn't help but pout that a boy no-older-than four-years-old managed to exploit such a weakness that he shouldn't even know about at his age. "Bad words, Shadow!" he accused, pointing a short, pudgy finger at me: causing me to roll my eyes at his antics with a scowl hidden beneath my mask, appalled he was actually trying to scold me instead of it being the other way around. Instead of him calling me by my actual title, I honestly didn't care that he'd come up with his own nickname for me: though I was secretly glad he actually came up with something that fit someone of my profession instead of something that made me feel as if I was some sort of pet.

"Yeah yeah, you did decently-well in defending yourself this time, Arno. However, you took too long to react: The City isn't safe, least of all for small Urchins like you, had I been an Enemy you would have been long-dead by the time you actually started fighting back: you need to react quicker than your foes, else it won't end well for you." I lectured, causing his grin to vanish at the tone I used as he stared at his feet in shame as my words sunk in. While I hadn't intended to snap, I needed him to understand that hesitating to defend himself if he'd ever actually find himself grabbed or cornered was a very dangerous thing to do and would quite-possibly end with his death. "I'm sorry, Shadow…I didn't mean to." he replied in a small voice, causing me to let out a quiet sigh as I approached him and knelt in the grass next to him: bumping him under the chin with my fist to make him look me in the eye.

"It's not about whether or not you meant to, its about keeping yourself safe: the Guards aren't always going to be around to watch out for you, nor will I. And it's because of that, that you need to learn what I'm teaching you and listen to what I tell you, do you understand?" I questioned, waiting patiently as his small mind caught up with my words: leaving him to nod after a few minutes of thinking. "I think so." he confirmed, though I knew it would be much longer before he actually understood fully: but I would accept his answer with a grain of salt, nonetheless. "Good. Now, have you been practicing your knots like I showed you?" I asked, causing the little boy to look away with an upset look on his face: causing a small frown of my own to make itself known beneath my mask.

"I tried! But I can't get it right! It's like the rope doesn't like me and won't listen!" he whined, causing me to let out a small 'huff' of laughter at the childish answer: making Arno pout even more once he'd realized I was amused by his answer. "Ropes don't 'like or dislike' anything, Arno: it's a rope, it isn't alive and doesn't have feelings. Show me what you're doing, and I'll tell you what you're doing wrong so you can fix it." I said, watching him fiddle with his chubby little hands for several seconds before pulling a small length of rope out of his pocket and began working on the latest knot I had been teaching him how to tie: 'The Monkey's Fist'. Ever since I first met the boy, I felt the need to teach him the same set of skills I had been teaching The Beggars and other street Urchins: seeing no harm in teaching him things I knew he would never learn otherwise.

Keeping my keen gaze on which way he threaded and looped the rope and how, I suddenly reached out and stopped him from going any further, feeling his confused gaze on me as I untied the part he'd just done and readjusted his fingers to the correct position. "You skipped a step: you have to loop it THIS way first before you do this part, otherwise you'll end up with a jumbled mess. Try it now." I instructed, completely untying the messy knot and watched as he did it again: keeping close attention as he made to make his same mistake again, only to hesitate and followed my instructions like I told him: ending up with a sloppy, but acceptable 'Monkey's Fist' that was nowhere near perfect: but it wasn't a mistake that practice couldn't fix.

"I did it!" he cheered loudly, only to giggle into his hands as I quickly shushed him before he woke any of the sleeping Guards: not understanding the need to be quiet yet, which he eventually would: especially once he reached the age where he was actually able to understand the fact that the law and I were NOT friends and loud noises were my Enemy. "You did. Well done, Arno." I praised, watching the boy beam like one of The Baron's electrical lights at the rarely-given compliment: before his gaze fell once-again, making me roll my eyes at how quickly his mood changed, but had to remind myself that he was young and the habit would pass eventually. "But…it's ugly." he pouted, making me bark out a laugh as I reached out and ruffled his curly, dark-brown locks: smirking as he swatted at my offending hand with a half-assed growl that was rather pathetic and not even close to threatening: like a soaking wet puppy.

"Listen, brat: it may look 'ugly' now, but if you practice like I keep telling you: what do you think will happen?" I questioned, asking the obviously-rhetoric question as he hardened his gaze in contemplation before he looked up at me again. "It'll…get better?" he guessed, glancing at the rope in his hands again as I nodded: probably making no sense to one as young as him, but it was better to teach him young instead of having him grow up a fool to be taken advantage of. "That's right. Now, I want you to practice those steps without skipping any this time and see how it looks the more you do it. Pretty soon, I wouldn't be able to tell yours apart from mine." I instructed again, rising to my full height and crossing my arms over my chest again, suddenly glaring at the small boy as soon as he replaced the rope back into his pocket.

"And don't you think that that little 'Rope Trick' excuses you from what happens now. It's four 'o clock in the morning, Arno: you should be in bed and NOT out here, what are you doing out here alone when you should be asleep?" I questioned, not liking how he suddenly became nervous as he fiddled with the hem of his oversized tunic and tried very hard to keep his eyes off my piercing gaze: especially once he caught the glare that reflected the light of the lamps as I waited for an explanation as to why he was roaming the grounds this late when he knew he had studies to attend to once the sun rose. However, in him trying so hard to hide: I found the exact reason why, and I was NOT pleased by it, especially when he waited this long to say anything at all, regardless if he'd actually spoke about it or not.

"You should know, that you can't hide anything from someone like me: especially if you don't want it to be known, we always find the truth, one way or the other. That being said, I'm only going to ask this once: lift your tunic, or I'm going to do it for you, and I wouldn't make me have to do that, if I were you." I scolded, knowing I hit the imaginary nail right on the head as the boy flinched before a brief look of panic crossed his face: causing his fidgeting to increase the longer I stared at him, only to start whimpering as I took a step forward. "No Shadow!" he yelped, trying in vain to keep my hands away as I lunged forward and snatched hold of his tunic in my right hand, while keeping him still with my left. "Shut up." I spat, not feeling the least bit apologetic as I harshly swatted his offending hands and lifted the hem to his face: making me grit my teeth in a snarl as I glared at the multiple black, purple and green bruises that covered his torso, and the long, angry red cuts that went hand-in-hand with them: nothing appeared broken, judging by the lack of 'rattles' in his breathing, but it was clear the pain was intense for one so small.

'Bastard used a Switch to top it off.' I noted vehemently, flicking my gaze to the boy as he struggled to hold back his tears: whether they were tears of pain or shame, I didn't know and honestly didn't care as I let the tunic fall back into place as I let him go. "Talk. Now." I snarled, watching as he continued his pathetic sniveling, flinching away as he heard the harsh demand and knew I wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. "T-They tried to take Tonio from me! H-Hit me when I wouldn't let go! They hit me even after they took him away!" he bawled, making my glare shift from him, and in the direction of the darkened Manor instead: knowing exactly who was behind the brutal beating, and was debating teaching those responsible a 'lesson', in return.

'All this violence, for a toy.' I thought, knowing the object Arno called 'Tonio' was more than just a toy to him: when I'd first come across him, I had an uncharacteristic urge to give him something, as I myself came from nothing: I knew the boy wasn't the type to survive like I had, he was simply 'too soft' for it. And after many hours hiding in the Taxidermist's shop in between Jobs, I had taken part of a Bear pelt and soft leather and had made him a Bear of his own that had been stuffed with wool and had golden buttons for eyes. Even though I'd never made anything of the sort before, I'll never forget the look on his tear-stained face as he gazed at me in utter disbelief the day I gave it to him: that Bear was his most prized possession, and in this City: there wasn't much happiness as it was, which was something many desperately needed more of.

"Come with me." I said, my glare freezing him in place as he tried to protest, only to cower away in fear of incurring my wrath: and while I wouldn't lay a hand on him, I'd been told by several of my fellow Thieves and Basso many times that I'd had a savage temper: one that was 'Not one to trifle with', apparently: though I think Basso just told them Ghost stories about me to keep them in line, if I'm being honest. Keeping to the shadows, I had taken only two steps before I heard the quiet sound of him following me: the occasional sniveling the only sounds that he made as I led him around the sleeping Guards, through the garden and over to the side of the large Manor. Glancing at the small boy out of the corner of my eye, I took hold of my whip (gritting my teeth as he flinched at the sight of it) and snapped it upwards: causing it to wrap around an overhanging rafter of one of the upper floors.

Giving it a few harsh 'tugs', I was satisfied with the confirmation that it wasn't about to come loose halfway through a climb before I silently beckoned to Arno: who wiped his tearstained face and climbed on my back, being mindful enough to do so underneath my cape instead of choking me with it. 'At least he has some form of common sense.' I thought, making sure he held on tight as I scurried up the rope and crept inside an open window on the second floor: hardly even bothered by the added weight of my tiny companion. Crouching low, I did a quick sweep for Guards, Birds or Dogs before quietly creeping along the carpeted floor of the hallway and around the corner until I reached the last door on the right. The interior of the Manor was just like any other in this City: extravagant, clean, and full of priceless and expensive Artifacts: however, this was one of the very, very few places I wouldn't steal from, and made sure to decline any Job that required taking something from this particular building.

Taking a quick peek in the keyhole, I was pleased to find no one inside the room as I pulled down on the handle and slipped inside. Upon reaching Arno's room, I reached behind me and gave the boy a slight nudge with the back of my hand: cueing him to let go of me and step out from underneath my cape and moved towards the middle of the room. "Now, you stay here. I won't be long." I muttered, making sure he heard me as I pushed him towards his bed: glaring at him and holding my hand up when he tried to protest and follow after me. Once I was sure he would obey, I slipped back out the door and around the next corner: taking great care not to disturb the Bird cage on a nearby side-table, or the Guard sleeping in the chair next to it: making me wonder how the hell the man's obnoxious snoring hadn't woken up anyone else in any of the nearby rooms.

Rolling my eyes at the irony, I crept along the hallways until I came upon the one I had been searching for: cursing silently as I caught sight of candlelight flickering from underneath the door. 'So much for being easy.' I mused, not minding the challenge, but in taking extra caution instead of what I'd originally planned had made it even harder for me to get my task done and back to The Lighthouse before sunrise: which didn't seem likely at this point, judging by the lightening sky. Glancing along both ends of the hallway for patrolling Guards, I took a peek inside the keyhole before reaching for the undersides of my wrists: pulling out a pair of lockpicks from within the lining of my gloves and quickly got to work: unlocking the door with three, simple 'clicks'. Once I was inside, I made short work of the small flames of the several candles in the nearby candlestick with a wave of my hand: leaving the room in darkness that was much better suited for a Nightingale.

'There, nice and cozy.' I mused, feeling a slight smirk twitch in my lip as I became a Shade in the darkness: shifting from cover-to-cover as I made my way around the pair of beds and dressing tables before coming to a stop next to a locked trunk sitting innocently beneath the window against the wall. 'Like a lock's going to stop me.' I mentally deadpanned, knowing the people of The City never learn that a good Thief will always find a way around a trap or a lock and claim their prize despite the owner's best efforts to keep it safe. As soon as the trunk was unlocked, I took great care making sure the noisy lid didn't wake the two occupants in the beds not five feet away: breathing a silent sigh of relief that neither had so much as stirred from the 'screeching' sound of the rusty hinge as it opened, exposing the contents to the world.

There wasn't much inside, with the exception of several trinkets and other treasures that held no real value: and in the center of it all, lay Tonio: its soft, black fur scuffed up and dirty, but was cleaned easily enough and had suffered no obvious damage…unlike Arno. Now, I was not a violent person by nature: but as soon as I saw the angry cuts and bruises on that little boy, well…I would've had no qualms with feeding someone their teeth as retribution for such a sickening action, no matter who it was. Picking up the Bear, I tucked it safely away in my Satchel before closing the trunk and departing from the room: sparing the two sleeping boys a venomous glare that I'm sure could've given one of Garrett's a run for its money before taking a deep breath through my nose and backtracked to Arno's room: making sure to gently close the door behind me in case anyone had passed by and grew suspicious.

Reaching the familiar door, I quietly slipped inside: focusing my gaze on the boy as he sat quietly on his bed before staring at me with a curious, but expectant look. Rising to my full height, I approached the bed and removed Tonio from my Satchel: to the utter delight of the boy before me, who took the Bear and practically-crushed it to his chest in relief. "Tonio! You found him!" he squealed, making an involuntary flinch shudder through my body as a wince appear on my face at his high-pitched voice and volume that was sure to draw attention if he kept it up. "Yes, I found him: now keep it down before you wake someone." I hissed, rolling my eyes as he giggled and hugged the Bear even tighter to his chest: making it very hard to ignore the little voice in my head that had been demanding justice for the boy's abuse: which became all-the-more apparent as he winced.

'If only there were more hours in the night.' I thought dangerously, gritting my teeth to keep myself from giving his attackers a 'Life Lesson' they would remember for the rest of their lives. "Now that you have him back, go to sleep: or you'll regret it when you're falling asleep during your lessons." I reminded him, unable to hide the grin that spread across my face at the horrified and panic-stricken expression that had suddenly taken over his previously-elated one. Once he situated himself, I turned on my heel and made to take my leave and return to The Lighthouse: when his sudden voice stopped me. "You'll come back, right Shadow?" he asked, causing me to glance back at him over my shoulder with a contemplative frown, one that had quickly vanished as I saw the expression on his face: one of worry with an underlying sadness that I've seen too many times in the eyes of the people in The City. "Are there clouds in the sky?" I replied, watching his small mind try to understand the sarcastic question before the answer finally clicked, causing his face to light up with a wide, toothy grin.

Tossing him a playful 'wink', I huffed a laugh as Arno waved his farewell with one hand, while making the Bear 'wave' with the other before I slipped around the corner and closed the door: opting to see myself out before the Roosters began their infuriating 'crowing' and woke up more people than I was willing to deal with. As soon as I slipped out of the Manor and made my way back up to The Thieves' Highway, I was reminded of my current 'Headache with a Name': knowing he would be coming to retrieve me soon for this Job, which hopefully carried ALL the information by the time we left for The General's Manor: because if we were going in blind, or the Client lied and was sending us into an Ambush…well, that would surely be an interesting outcome: for if it was something every Thief agreed on, it was this one, simple fact: we don't take kindly to being cheated, and woe to any who's stupid enough to try. Because in this City, Liars and Cheaters are often hanged, or given to The Eel Biters: and not even I wanted to know how they coaxed such screams from the 'lucky' ones: because if the rumors were true, I'd much rather prefer The General's torture: which may very well be a good possibility this time, I just hoped the persistant feeling of dread was wrong: but knowing my luck, this was just the beginning of the nightmare, and I did NOT want to see how it ended.


End file.
